


Feeling the Unknown

by Mouse10



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Adult Content, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexuality, Blood and Injury, Concussions, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Drug Dealing, Drug Use, Drunk Sex, Gay Sex, High School, Homosexuality, Injury, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Overdosing, Past Drug Use, Police, Post-Concussion Syndrome, Protective John Watson, Recreational Drug Use, Sex, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock is a Mess, Slow Burn, Smoking, Swearing, Teen John Watson, Teen Romance, Teen Sherlock, Teenlock, University Student John Watson, University Student Sherlock, Violence, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:08:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 54
Words: 27,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26131669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mouse10/pseuds/Mouse10
Summary: Sherlock and John, by all rights, should not meet at all in this story, but Sherlock being who he is, tosses himself unintentionally into John's life at uni.Story complete. Epilogue to be posted soon.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 27
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

_"There are no final truths. The scientific mind does not so much provide the right answers, as ask the right questions."_ Claude Levi-Strauss, French Anthropologist 

*

*

*

_Corridor cricket,_ that's what they called it.

_Lunacy,_ that's what I called it.

I stood at one end of said corridor strategizing just how to navigate my way to the other. The game stopped when they saw me. I heard someone whisper, _"It's Holmes."_

I stood there in silence. 

Everyone stared at me. 

We were at an impasse.

With no alternative, I made my way down the hallway, sidestepping the balls, cricket bats and cricketers that littered the corridor. 

I wasn't afraid of them, not as much as they were afraid of me.

Comes in handy to be thought of as crazy.

Almost there. I heard some snickering behind me, but it could be worse. 

Sorry, it _has been_ worse. 

I make it to the end. Just-- 

I'm relieved to get there, but I don't see who put a foot out to trip me.

Then laughter. 

No need to turn around. I know my face is red.

_Fuck 'em all._

I make it into my room, shut the door and turn the lock. 

The little party outside the door breaks up. It's almost lights out. 

I'm glad I have something to do.

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Once inside, I toss my books onto Victor's bed, still freshly made. After all, he won't be using it, he's not here this year and won't be coming back. Not after what happened.

First things first. There's an assignment tonight that I hadn't anticipated. Bugger. So I get right down to it. I'm supposed to be on my best behavior. The alternatives for not complying are dismal.

Takes about 2 minutes to polish off the chemistry questions.

Done. Onto my reward. 

The door's locked and I'm alone.

Such a shame Victor's not here, he would have loved this. _Might have loved this._ I was never sure.

I was told it was the finest hashish on the streets in the last few months. I don't always believe what they say. I have my own methods. I like to do plenty of research.

I picked it up in Camden, you can get anything there. 

Thinking back to last summer, in Amsterdam with Victor, trying my first hashish. We'll see how this compares.

I change into track pants and worn t-shirt I've had for ages. I pour the red wine I've squirreled away into a school mug and settle in for the evening. 

Hash pipes are very tiny, almost cute, if I said such things, this one is white, ceramic and made in Turkey. Don't ask where I got it. 

I got comfortable on the bed. The hash was in block form, wrapped in aluminium foil, brown. It crumbled a little when I broke a small piece off. I fitted it into the pipe and lighted it. 

I had already made sure the window was open. Hashish can be pungently sweet. I don't need any more trouble.

It very much brought back memories of Amsterdam, but my thoughts thankfully turned elsewhere.

The combination of wine and the hash was a pretty good one. I know exactly how I'm going to spend my weekend. I'd rather not spend the time in this room like a caged tiger, clawing the walls.

It'll be fine.

I'm certainly not going to spend the weekend thinking about Victor.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the pandemic, uni is way messed up. Please join John for Fresher's Week (sometime before the pandemic) and we'll all live a little vicariously through him.

_Fresher's Week,_ that's what's they call it. 

_Best time ever._ That's what I call it. 

There were entirely too many people on my bed. They decided to come to mine for pre drinks before clubbing. Mike brought a four pack of Carlsberg and Molly brought a bottle of prosecco. 

_I brought paracetamol 500mg from Tesco's._

I've been out every night with my floor mates. That's what your supposed to do for Fresher's Week, right?

I looked at all the booze in my room. More coming at the clubs.

I'm ready. 

Maybe I won't drink so much tonight. 

_Nah._

My friends--all whom I've met just this week, were in high spirits. If I was being honest with myself, my thoughts were all over the place about Fresher's Week at uni.

I'm slowing down. Dancing, ball pits, clubbing. It's too much--I have bruises from the mechanical bull riding.

I'm truly out for getting trashed and having a good time. Again.

I'm truly out for slowing down and not drinking as much. Maybe. 

I expressed my doubts to Mike. "That's not the John Watson I know!!" he said, slapping me on the back after knowing me for two bloody days. 

Right. Not ready to take a night off yet. 

"John!!" Mary opened my door, I never lock it. She came in with a big smile and a bigger bottle of Sambuca. Mike and Molly budged over to make room for Mary on my bed. 

Mary likes me. She stands a little too close to me and licks her lips. Whenever we're together, Mary circles me like a shark. _I don't mind being someone's prey._

I could, _but I won't._ I had a steady girlfriend in VI Form, but I just got to uni, I want to keep my options open. 

Tonight's a 'foam party'. Not sure what that is. I had pizza with the football club earlier today. They'll be at the 'foam party' too. I'm not committing to any societies or clubs yet. I like rugby, too. 

We all had our red wristbands on, ready to get into the pre-paid parties. The wristband was a little dear on my part, but my sister told me to do it, it'd be worth it. 

_Fresher's Week, John. Fresher's Week. Don't miss it. Don't._ My sister Harriet should know, she's all about having a good time.

Mary was smiling and digging into a bag, she dragged out a smaller bag and showed it to everyone. Gold wristbands. "Queue jumpers!!" she said, holding the wrist bands high over her head. "We get in ahead of everyone," she said, doling out a wrist band for each of us. 

"How much?" Molly asked, looking warily at the wristband.

Mary widened her eyes, "Nothing. My treat!!"

Mary walked over to me. _"Got it from a friend."_ She whispered in my ear after she handed me mine. Her breath tickled my earlobe, her perfume a little too strong.

"Nice friend." I said.


	3. Chapter 3

I have a dressing gown over my all black clothes. I'm sneaking out. I have a life beyond these walls, despite what my brother wants. 

Light's out is at 11 and curfew is 12 on the weekends. I've already been counted as in my room.

All I have to do is walk past the floor guard, down the back steps and out the door. I did this every weekend last term. Works like a charm. 

Hence the dressing gown. 

I walk up to the floor guard, who sits behind a desk at the end of the corridor. 

"I heard a noise." I pull the dressing gown tighter around my self, eyes wide.

"When?" he asks as he looks up from his book. He can't see that I have trainers on from his position behind the desk.

"Just now. From down stairs, it sounded like... _banging._ " I shrugged. "Then I thought I heard a yell...or scream."

" I didn't hear anythin'," He put his book down, sighing. He got up, walked over to the lift and hit the button. 

"Thanks," I said. "it sounded scary."

"Be right back," he said.

As soon as the lift doors closed, I pulled off the dressing gown, tossed it into my room and made for the stairway. I had already disabled the cameras down the back staircase and the ones behind the building.

Once outside, I stood waiting in the shadows until the security truck pulled round the front, out of sight. Then I ran for it.

A few blocks down the street, I slowed my pace.

I smoked a cigarette as I walked along, glad to be away from school for a bit.

On this side of London, it was very quiet. Mostly residential, with buildings of flats, churches, few shops and our school. 

A few more blocks and it will get louder. _Much louder._

I pull out a red wristband from my pocket and put it on. I have a gold queue jumper band, too.

Who says you have to be a uni student to go to Fresher's Week? 


	4. Chapter 4

Mary was right the queue jumper bands worked a charm. We got right in. 

The queue outside looked a mile long. We got some stares when we got in ahead of everyone else.

The music was loud. Laser lights in every direction. I couldn't see the floor. I'm actually glad I had a few drinks before we got here. My headache was better.

As it turns out, a foam party is exactly that, a room filled with foam, like from the bath. 

Most of the girls were wearing swimsuits and the blokes had already taken their shirts off. The place was mad.

Mary was smiling and shouting something in my ear. I nodded at her but didn't know what she said. I think she went to get drinks. They were free now that we were in the place.

I turned around, Mike and Molly were nowhere to be seen. I didn't mind at all, there was plenty to take in.

Mary appeared out of the foam momentarily, pressed a drink into my hand, said something in my ear and disappeared.

I took a few swigs of the drink. It was fruity and didn't taste at all like alcohol, but I knew better. 

I have a pretty good tolerance for alcohol, but even I was starting to feel a bit lightheaded. How long have we been here? I saw Mike and Molly dancing for a bit. I told them I was going to find water. 

It's easy to lose your bearings in a place like this. 

After getting water, I found a quiet corner to stand to watch the madness. 

I saw Mary again, she introduced me to her friend Jim. Mary was smiling from ear to ear and said something about Ibiza. _Foam party in Ibiza._ I could only nod at this point. They disappeared again, into the foam. 

That's the way the entire night went. I tried to drink plenty of water, the club was sweltering and loud. At times the lights were blinding.

"ID tags." Someone said in my ear. "Military."

I turned to see who it was, my face red. My father's ID tags were under my shirt. _Always._ The foam and the heat of the club made my clothes wet. Everyone's clothes were wet. 

_Could you see the tags through my shirt?_

I turned and could only stare at this point. My head swam and I tried to look though the foam to see who it was. The whole of Fresher's Week, no one said a thing. Not even Mary, who was attached to my hip. 

_Not attached tonight, though._

"....My father's." I touched the tags reflexively, peering up into the foam. _Can you read emotion through foam?_

_"Sorry."_

"Thanks, it's... fine. It was a long time ago." I managed. I hate to talk about my father.

"It might be a good idea to get out of here before the electrocution." 

"Sorry?"

"All of this water and the DJ and lights. Invariably setting up this entire place for an electrical disaster."

I could see who was taking now. I hadn't seen this bloke before. He was taller than me, in all black--well, what I could see that wasn't covered in foam. Molly appeared at my elbow. 

"John, can't you introduce me to your friend?" Molly was sweating too, like the rest of us. Covered in foam. Soaked from head to toe. 

"Molly, this is..." I started, but I didn't know who this was. 

"Sherlock, hi." they shook soapy hands. 

"And you're John." Wait, how did he know? Molly said my name, right?

Molly was all smiles at this bloke. _Good for Molly, then._ She quickly wedged herself between him and I and tried to make polite conversation while shouting over the DJ. I edged away from them to try to find a nice simple, cold pint. 

I did find a pint and downed it. Now to find Mary and Mike. I also wanted to find the door, but we had all promised each other that we'd try to stay together all night.

_"Before the electrocution...."_

Now there's a phrase that will stay with you. Maybe we shouldn't stay too long. 

There second floor of the club had a balcony, where you could actually get away from a foam for a bit. This is where I found Mary with Jim. They were talking in a dark corner, near the railing. 

I walked up to them and looked over the railing. The entire place was a sea of foam, laser lights and writhing bodies. _And plenty of water on the floor._

Jim had his arm around Mary's shoulder, whispering in her ear. Mary turned red when she saw me. Mary was not my girlfriend, I had no claim on her. She can talk to any bloke she wants.

She seemed to back away from Jim a little. She stood a few steps closer to me. Jim reached for her, it was more of a lurch really. She seemed to shrink from his touch. 

I reached out and put my arm up to shield her. "Jim, I don't think she likes it when you're handsy like that."

_"Are you her father?"_ he asked me with a sneer.

"John, it's fine," Mary whispered. 

"Are you sure, Mary?" I took a step closer to Jim. I wasn't afraid of him. A few drinks in, I wasn't afraid of anyone. 

Jim took a swing at me and missed. I dogged his fist. He pushed me, hard. With the momentum I already had, I went sailing over the balcony on my way to the floor below. 

Halfway down, in mid air--the lights in the club went out. 

I don't remember hitting the floor. The last thing I remember was the screaming.


	5. Chapter 5

Getting into the club was easy. I had the red Fresher's Week band, as a well as the gold Queue Jumper's band. I sailed right in. Not sure why I'm here. Nothing going on this sleepy side of London.

Won't be here long. Have to get back to school, eventually. _'Observation of social patterns of my peer group',_ I guess. Strictly for entertainment purposes only. I won't be writing this paper.

The club was packed. Wall to wall uni students, _in very little clothing._

The women were in swimwear, little dresses or shorts. Blokes were in shorts or trunks, shirts optional. I am of course, overdressed for the occasion. I often make that miscalculation. 

Plenty to drink, but the drink of the night was the _blue lagoon cocktail_ a bright blue concoction with fruit. I had two. 

They were bloody awful. But helpful.

I find I cannot relax like I see others doing. Relaxing, chatting with friends, laughing. I'm always doing something. I can't sit, I pace. My mind is always elsewhere. Take the club, for example, ceilings high, walls painted black. Loud, poorly lit, filled with soapy, watery foam and writhing bodies everywhere. I walked around to inspect the set up. Foam machines in four corners of the very large room belched foam from four directions, obscuring the floor. Hazard number one, for drunk students to slip, fall and injure themselves. Obvious. 

Hazard number two-- _the electrical set up._ There was no thought given to keep the water and foam away from the sound equipment. The DJ at one end of the room-- the amount of water and foam so large that there wasn't a good way to keep them apart. 

The students were already realizing the hazard of the slip and fall and were being careful walking or running. 

I asked to speak to the manager and tried to explain the hazard to a few of the bouncers, but no one wants to listen to a drunk uni student (that would be me). I hoped I was wrong, i did manage to mention it to a few of the students who would listen. 

At the very least--lights out at the club, party over. At the very worst, electrocution and death.

I can't help seeing things, I see loads of things others just don't see. I hate to admit it, but alcohol helps me calm down. Alcohol and other things. 

Most of the students just ignored me, not wanting my observations to ruin a perfectly great night of Fresher's Week. 

So, I stayed near the exit, keeping it in my sights and keeping my feet dry.

When the lights went out and the stampede started, I was able to grab the girl I just met, Molly and head for the exit. We were able to get another 25 students out with us. 

After that I had to head back to my school, I didn't need to get picked up again by the police. 

I made it back at bout 330, slipped in before the sun started to come up, 

I had placed a piece of sello tape over the latch before I left. The reentry wasn't as elegant as the exit. I removed the tape before I slipped up the back staircase and back to my room.


	6. Chapter 6

I missed loads of things that night, the stampede, the riot, the police. The ambulance ride. I woke up at hospital, the next day, no friends in sight. My last memory was falling over the railing. Turns out I fell into the crowd and broke my ankle. I lost consciousness in the stampede, when I was trampled by 250 people. I have no memory of that. 

They told me I was lucky to be alive, with only a broken ankle, concussion and about 25 large bruises. All thanks to Jim, the wanker.

I spent the night in hospital and the next day, Mary, Mike and Molly showed up with the newspaper. The hospital called my mum and she came right away to see me. I tried to explain what happened as she cried at the side of the bed, but most of it I didn't remember. Mum was worried and angry, but I promised her that I didn't feel as bad as I looked. They let me go the day after. 

The rest of Fresher's Week was a bust. The club got shut down and sighted for _reckless endangerment, code violations and safety sanctions_ or something like that. 

Monday was the first day of classes. I had a cast on my leg and crutches. Hobbling 'round university. I couldn't complain--everyone was helping me, Molly carried my books, Mary went to the store for me, and everyone, everywhere asked me what happened. 

I was the poster child for 'The Riot of Fresher's Week'. Thanks loads for that. 

Looks like I won't have to choose between football or rugby.

We were all interviewed by the police for the investigation. The newspapers and morning shows wanted to talk to us too, but we weren't allowed. Everyone wanted to find the bloke who was with Molly and rescued all the students and helped people find the door, but no one knew who he was.

I couldn't remember his name, the only person who did was Molly but no one else knew who _Sherlock_ was. 

I have a big black hole where my memories of that night should be.

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I was struggling in all of my classes. I had doctor's appointments. I has tests of my memory: short term recall, long term recall. They told me I probably had a worse concussion than they had thought earlier. I had terrible headaches. I had nightmares.

I was spending lots of time in the library, studying. I was staring at books for hours and getting nowhere.

The librarian and staff got used to seeing me there every day. They saved me my favorite table with a place to put my foot up on a nearby chair. 

I made note cards. I highlighted notes in different colors. Molly quizzed me and we studied together. My marks in all of my classes were abysmal, but by far the worst class was chemistry. 

It was looking like I'd have to take it again next term. It was also looking like this whole term was a waste of time and money. I felt bad for my mum, mostly. Widowed, working long hours to help me with school and here I was, just taking up space. 

It was six in the evening. I looked up at the clock on the wall of the library and realized that I was starving. I wasn't going to get anywhere tonight with no food in my stomach. As I reached for my bag to get up, I realized that someone was staring at me. I looked up. They quickly looked away when I noticed.

It was the bloke from the club, the one who told me about possible electrocution. _The one who was right about the disaster._

I stood up suddenly, with my casted leg still on the chair. I almost fell over, 'Oi," I said, not wanting to yell in the library.

He looked at me. It had been a few weeks. I'm sure he remembered who I was. 


	7. Chapter 7

I read all the newspapers the next day. _'Freshers Week Club Riot', 'Disaster for Freshers' and 'Freshers Week Gone Wrong',_ read the headlines.

I squinted at my photo plastered on the front page. Several front pages, actually. There was really no way to tell it was me. It was dark. I was wearing dark clothes, my face turned away from the camera.

I expected to get reprimanded by my brother, who has been my guardian since our parents died. He and I now have _monthly_ meetings, but no reprimand occurred. In fact, he complimented me on not getting into any recent trouble and attending classes. 

I know my brother has me followed. I know the school reports to him. He didn't mention my (unauthorized) trip to the club. No mention of the riot, nor my photo on the front of the local newspapers. 

So, the question is, who's slipping up? Mycroft or his minions?

Or, am I just getting better at avoiding them? 

Nonetheless, I kept a low profile from then on. No more nighttime excursions--for the time being. Stayed at school, mostly. I did frequent a cafe at the university and I did still like to haunt the library. 

Despite my best efforts, someone did notice me. Of course, this is my own fault, I have no self control.

To be fair, I saw him first. He looked awful. I remember reading the articles about all of the injuries. There were a few choice pictures in the papers of uni kids being treated by the medics. Black eyes and lacerations, bruises and a few broken bones. 

But there he was, sitting at a table with his casted foot up on a chair, a sea of books all around him. You could still see fading bruises on his face and neck. The papers did say the that there was only one serious injury requiring hospitalization. Was that him? The hospitalization? Or someone else? 

How many weeks had it been since the riot? I spoke to him that night, right before everything went wrong. I remember him. I'd know him anywhere.

Damn. I was staring. And got caught.

I'm good at running, but it was too late to run. 

He remembers me too, I'm sure of it. 


	8. Chapter 8

I remembered him. _I remembered something._ Something about that night. When I jumped up, I almost knocked my chair over. I reached back to steady it.

He froze when I recognized him. "Don't go anywhere." I said, pointing right at him.

"Allright," he said, eyes wide. 

There was no one in the library now, everyone was at dinner. I made to get my books together, but I was struggling. Bag, books, crutches, cast, chair. I was a mess.

He walked over to me. "I can help," he offered. 

"Lot of bloody help you were the night of the club riot." I snapped. Why was I angry? Angry at my situation. Not angry at him. OK, maybe, angry at him. A little. 

He stood at his full height and took a deep breath. _"If you remember correctly, I tried to help._ You're not the only person I tried to warn."

"I remember very little about that night. I have a concussion and memory loss." I said, my voice sounding much smaller than I wanted it to.

"Oh, I'm sorry." He said simply and looked at me. _"Again."_

I sighed. "Well, actually I do remember you. That's about all I remember, though." I managed to pick up both crutches, but not the bag.

When I turned, I was surprised to find Molly at my elbow. She had come to help me walk back to the residence hall. She does that sometimes.

"John. _Sherlock?_ Where have you been? Everyone at uni is looking for you. _For weeks._ No one has seen you since the night of the riot. Did you talk to the police?" Molly spoke to him like they were friends, but I could see her blushing. _She fancies this bloke._

I looked from Molly to Sherlock and back again. She was practically scolding him and he was uncomfortable. 

"Police? Well, I... I... _I did."_ he said, looking down at his shoes. He picked up my bag and tossed it over his shoulder.

We walked out of the library and back to the residence hall, slowly. The two of them matching my hobbling pace. Sherlock mentioned he spoke to the police and a said a little about the investigation. Molly nodded, she seemed satisfied.

She left us at the front of the residence hall, she had an evening class. "Bye, Sherlock." Molly waved at him shyly, still blushing. She didn't say 'bye' to me.

"So, 'Mr. Hero' of the freshers riot, _why did you lie to her?"_ I asked, once she was out of earshot.

He had a small smirk on his face. "It wasn't exactly a lie."

"You didn't tell her anything that wasn't already in the papers."

He shrugged. "You've been paying attention, she hasn't."

"Still, why lie? You didn't talk to the police."

"No, I didn't. I'm trying to avoid the police, actually." he handed me my bag.

"It'd probably be good if you did. Talk to them." 

"Why?"

"Tell them what you know, what you saw. What you thought."

He rolled his eyes, "No one listens to me. They think I'm ridiculous. They'll just tell me to piss off." 

"I'm listening now. I wished I listened to you that night. If I had, I wouldn't have to take chemistry over again next term."

"There's still plenty of time this term to pass chemistry." he frowned. 

"Not if your doing as badly as I am." Ok, now I was feeling sorry for myself. So far a running theme of my first term at uni. 

He looked at me, quiet. "I have to go but, _I'm very good at chemistry._ What if I can help you?"

"How?" No one can help me. I was doomed to be a drain on society. I was so fuckin' miserable.

"I could tutor you--maybe. Go over your notes." 

"Nah, I don't think that'd work. Molly's already been helping me. There's nothing for it. I'm hopeless." 

He seemed nervous, in a rush all of a sudden. "I have to go, really. Maybe I can meet you in the library. How about tomorrow?"

I shrugged. "Sure, fine. Can't get any worse. See you tomorrow, then." I hobbled away. Fine, let everyone pour into my empty cup. _The one with the big hole in it._


	9. Chapter 9

Not the first time I was caught looking foolish. Won't be the last. 

Maybe I'll make it into a profession.

I did mention that he looked awful. I could still see fading bruises. There were healing abrasions, too. Face, neck, arms.

Struggling with his books, bag, crutches and the chair that may just topple over. Yet he was confronting me-- _ordering_ me to not go anywhere.

Injured, yet undeterred. 

It was....

 _Admirable._

I felt badly for him, of course. I'm not heartless, like everyone assumes. I walked over and offered to help, but he just scolded me.

I protested. I tried to help that night. _I did._ As a matter of fact, that was my picture on the front of the paper, _helping._

As prescient as I am at times, my warnings and observations go unheeded. _Often._

It's awful about the concussion, I was pretty certain people would be hurt if things went as wrong as I feared. Too bad it was him. 

Molly appeared, I remember her from the riot, as well. _And he's John._ Molly confirmed his name just now. Now _she's_ scolding me. Where's the door?

I assured Molly that I did talk to the police, when in fact I didn't. To hide being uncomfortable, I picked up John's bag of books, so I could avert my eyes.

_I don't want to spend any more time with the police than I have to already._

I walked along with them to the residence hall. And that's how I found out where John and Molly lived.

And yet maybe--I could help, somehow. What could I do? None of us could undo the accident, the riot, the badly designed night out for the freshers, designed to make other people money and causing uni students so much misery.

 _And John._ Who tells me it just may cost him another term at uni. To add to the educational debt he's racking up here. That his family can ill afford, I reckon.

But I had to go, I was going to be late for supper. My brief trip to the uni library had become much more than the intellectual respite I craved. I had already missed house and roll call, but I can make something _reasonable_ up if I can get to supper. 

_There's no one better at chemistry than me._ That might be one way I could help. _If he accepts my offer._

I'll have to come up with a better strategy than the one I have now to get away from school for so long without being missed.

I'm glad John didn't ask why I had to go in such an rush. I'd rather not tell him I don't go to this university.


	10. Chapter 10

Never thought he'd show up, but he did. We met irregularly over a few weeks during the first term. Never thought it'd work, either. I had been so disappointed by my lack of progress after the accident. Tutoring with Sherlock was enormous help and my marks did improve. 

There were few times he didn't show, but then the next time he would. He never gave me an excuse or explanation and I didn't ask. My location never changed, I was always at the same place--he knew where I'd be. 

When he did show up, he seemed nervous, checking his watch or glancing at the clock on the wall the entire time. 

I asked him if there was a better time or place for him. I didn't want to put him out, but my marks were improving. I dreaded a time when he would not show up at all, just disappear. Eventually we were studying in my room. He seemed slightly more relaxed there, but only slightly. 

He would never talk about himself. He was pretty cagey when I asked him what he was reading at uni or which university housing he lived in. He would change the subject, so I stopped asking.

People walked in and out of my room all the time--Molly, Mary, Mike. I had more traffic than the library. It didn't bother me, but it bothered him. He said it distracted him and he couldn't concentrate with them in the room. 

But he had something to say about all of them. when they left, he'd look up from his notes to offer an opinion about them: Mary-- _"she fancies you, wants to be a nurse, only child."_

Molly: _"--studying science as well, fancies you,too-- but she's wary of Mary, so she won't act on it. Every time she comes in here, she looks over her shoulder--afraid of Mary. "_

__

"Why is she afraid of Mary?" 

__

He frowned at me. "How would I know? You know her better than me."

__

"No I don't. Do you hear yourself? Your the one sitting here--telling me her life's story."

__

_"Mike, medical as well."_

__

"Did you ask them?" 

__

"No, I saw--just by looking-books--everyone of them carries medical books, _but Mary carries nursing books."_

He continued, it's like he couldn't stop. "You won't find Mary looking over her shoulder. Mary's not afraid of anyone."

__

I felt a hot red flush creeping up my cheeks. I wasn't at all interested in why Molly was afraid of Mary. I was interested in who fancied me. "How do you know they fancy me?" 

__

"The way they look at you. They both glance at you--often. They search your face, probably looking for non-verbal clues that you're interested. They look at your lips as your talking-people don't just do that unless there's some sexual interest or physical attraction. That's what people do, but it's unconscious. _It's a tell, a physical tell._ They don't even realize they're doing it. But, you don't always look back." He cleared his throat and looked down at the chemistry notes.

__

I shook my head. "Mary, Molly. Next you'll be telling me that Stamford fancies, me too." I laughed. 

__

He looked up, expression blank. "Um, no."

__

"Well, that's a relief." I laughed.

__

There was an uncomfortable silence in the room just then, but I wasn't sure if I said something to accidently offend him. So, I tried to offer an observation of my own. 

__

"Well, I think Molly fancies you--." I offered, smiling. 

__

"Oh. That's unfortunate."

__


	11. Chapter 11

I was happy to help, although I thought it wasn't possible, really. Scratch that. Possible maybe, but not _sustainable._

Firstly, my time management skills were a bit lacking.

Secondly, I had prior obligations.

We set up a somewhat comfortable study station at John's. It was best to move elsewhere than the library, but John's room was Paddington Station. If his door had a lock, it was rarely used. From my observations, John is a pretty popular fellow. 

Too many people about tax my concentration, it's annoying.

Little actual studying was done. Apart from the parade of people, through John's room, _John kept on talking to me._ He asked question after question. John knew very little about me and I preferred to keep it that way. I deflected his questions about me by telling him things about his friends. 

I did it mostly to entertain John and to keep his knowledge about me to a minimum--overall the observations being completely useless. 

_Except one._

Mary, though. 

What was most concerning about Mary was not what I could see, but what I _couldn't_ see about her. She was one big question mark.

I wasn't planning to share my concerns about Mary, of course. 

I thought there was only one useful observation that evening, but there were actually two.

I wasn't going to tell John _everything_ I saw, about Mary or anything else.


	12. Chapter 12

And so, it was Friday. For the first time this entire term, I felt close to being back to normal.

I have been studying, sitting, reading and visiting doctors this whole term. Where are all of those stories people tell about all the fun they had at uni? When will the fun start?

I spent a good deal of time feeling sorry for myself, but that was slowly changing.

Sitting in my room with Sherlock, balancing the chemistry equations he had given me. He was sitting opposite me, reading something in German that I couldn't decipher. Didn't ask him what it was.

I was doing well on the chemistry equations. It was taking much less time to get a full page done now.

I had lost track of time. It was nearly dinner. 

Mike popped his head into the room. "Go'in' the pub, John. Coming?"

_The pub!_ Was such a thing possible? My marks had improved, I was no longer failing my exams. I can go down the pub!! It felt like a just reward for all the work I had done. 

I looked over at Sherlock. "The pub--want to go?"

He didn't look up from his book. _"No."_

"Sherlock, why not? 'should be fun." I put my things down on the bed. I was going.

I stood up and hobbled over to get my jersey, the nights were getting colder. The new brace they gave for my ankle was an improvement on the old heavy plaster cast, so I was moving faster. A bit. 

_"The pub, Sherlock."_ I repeated.

"Not interested." he stood up, grabbed his satchel and made for the door.

I grabbed his arm. He looked at me, surprised and glanced down at where my hand was around his bicep. I had never touched him before.

I laughed and let go, cheeks pink. "Sorry. Come on, I'll buy." 

"I don't...drink." he shook his head. 

"Do you ever go out? Do you even have fun?"

He had a look on his face that I couldn't make out. Serious. Sad? He was quiet.

_"Life can't be just uni, Sherlock, just studying."_ I looked into his eyes, they were a dark grey. 

He still didn't answer me. 

I slapped him on the shoulder and he flinched. "Pub's close. I wont take 'no' for an answer. Let's go." I smiled. I could see some doubt on his face.

"How 'bout this? Won't stay long, allright? Just one pint." 

No answer.

"Great, now that's sorted. Let's meet up with the others."


	13. Chapter 13

But I wasn't a uni student was I? I wasn't due to go to uni until next year. I was just an interloper. Still, I went along with John and his friends to the pub. I don't even like beer. 

Or pubs, for that matter.

My arm tingled from where John touched me, all the way to the pub. I shouldn't have come along, but...to be honest, I _wanted_ to.

I won't stay long. I can't stay.

I dumped my books on a seat and John handed me a pint. This place was packed with uni kids. It was loud, sweaty and John and his mates appeared to be in their element. 

John was getting around well on the new brace. Half way through the pint, I decided beer wasn't so bad. 

John roped me into a drinking game. It was---fun.

I can't stay though, I really have to go.

He was sitting next to me, smiling. He leaned in to talk to me. "So, how do you do it?" he asked with a conspiratorial whisper. He looked at me, right into my eyes. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. His eyes were a clear blue and pupils were very large. I could see a band of sweat across his brow. 

I had to look away from those clear blue eyes. _I saw things there,_ more than I liked to admit right now. Things I can't do anything about. I looked off into the distance, surveying the crowd, as nonchalant as my hammering heart could allow. "Do what?" Of course, _I know what he's asking._

"Um...read people. Like you do. Tell things." he was waiting for an answer. 

His eyes were wide.

"I just do, John. It's like reading a book." I hoped my voice was a bit stronger than a whisper. 

He was smiling. "Tell me something, then, about me." 

For a moment I felt icy fear in my stomach. _I did know something about John._ I saw it. It's something very apparent to me, but is likely _not_ apparent to John. Something I'm not sure he wants to hear right now. _Or ever._

It was a big thing, too. Maybe enormous. Not something that's easy to say. He might take it as an accusation. But I'm not wrong, I'm sure of it.

It's no longer a parlor game when you see a bit of someone's soul.

So, I panicked. I drained my pint. "I'm for the loo, excuse me."


	14. Chapter 14

Sherlock took off. Don't know where he's gone to. Think he said something about the loo. 

Mary sat down next to me. _Well, hello Mary._ She was smiling. Maybe the term is taking a better direction in all ways.

Sherlock came back, "It's your shout." I told him.

"What?" He looked clueless, absolutely clueless-- _like he's never been to a pub before._

"Your turn to buy a round." I showed him my empty. 

"Oh. Fine," he took off again, frowning. Searching for the server. 

Mary grabbed my arm and leaned on me briefly, squeezing my bicep. _"John, you're back to yourself, yeah?"_

"Yeah, mostly." I sighed. "God Mary, I've never felt better. I mean, this term. I was feeling pretty hopeless." 

_"Before Sherlock,"_ she said, squeezing again.

I looked at her, not sure what she meant, really. I looked down into the pint glass. "He's been a great help, yeah. I have chemistry sorted. This term's not a loss." 

"I like him," she said. "If anyone is helping you, they're all right in my book." she had a nice soft smile. I thought back to what Sherlock said about Mary fancying me and body language. Can I figure that out, too? She _was_ hugging my arm. 

Sherlock came back. Mary suddenly let go of me. There was a cold place on my bicep where her warm hand had been.

Our server came with a tray and everyone had a new pint. 

That's funny. Did Mary let go of me because she didn't want _Sherlock_ to see?

Maybe I'm imagining things. How many pints have I had?

Mary and Sherlock seemed to get along. Mary was asking him questions about what residence hall he lived in and he was being dodgy, like usual. I laughed to myself, I knew he wasn't gong to answer her. _Good luck Mary,_ I've already tried and failed. 

Halfway into my pint, the pub got even more crowded, if that was possible. There were more people standing, milling about. I looked toward the door, more people coming in.

I stood up when I recognized Jim and everything about the night he pushed me over the railing came flooding back. I saw red. I walked away from the table without a word to anyone, ready to beat the living shit out of him. 


	15. Chapter 15

The loo was a respite from John's intense scrutiny. It was cooler in there for a moment. When I came out, Mary was sitting with John, hugging his arm--looking up at him and batting her _girly eyelashes_ at him, obviously flirting. I walked straight over there, but John gave me a task, so I went in search of the server. _I didn't care, of course._ I don't care who John takes a fancy to. 

As soon as I came back, Mary quickly released John's arm and sat up straight, looking directly at me. Not certain I can read the look on her face--like it's a challenge. But I had a few pints. Each Imperial pint is equal to 19.2152 fluid ounces. Surprised I haven't had more trips to the loo. 

Mary's appearance is my signal to leave. Better go before I can't walk home.

I looked around a bit for my books when I realized that John got up and left the table. When I heard the shouting, I glanced toward the front and that's where I saw John. He had gotten up quietly and made his way into the crowd and was now _on the floor pummeling someone._

Mary and I shot out of our seats and ran to the front of the pub. There was a thick crowd surrounding them. As difficult as it was to get close, I managed to reach John and try to pull at his shoulders and arms to get him off this bloke. 

It was difficult. John had the same amount of alcohol that I had, but he was much more irrational. The bloke was on his back with John sat on top of him, beating him bloody. I recognized him from the loo. I was shouting, everyone was shouting. John wasn't budging. Maybe this bloke deserved the pounding, but didn't want John to kill him.

There was nothing for it. I decided to tackle John to the floor, thus ending the fight. _John would not go down easy._ As soon as he recognized it was me, he was screaming at me and threw a punch, but I caught his fist. I had him pinned to the floor, hands above his head. By that time the police arrived. 

The crowd dispersed, the bloke John beat up was taken away to hospital by the medics. There were only a few of us left in the pub. Those not directly involved in the fight were let go. 

We were a mess. John's hands were scraped and bleeding. We both had blood down the front of our clothes. John's lip was split open, the bloke must've landed a punch at some point. The next day I would sport a black eye--John must've punched me, but I hadn't noticed it yet.

As bad as this was for John, it was actually much more of a disaster for me. As soon as the police showed up, my game was over.

John was sitting at a table, his head in his hands. I was standing in the middle of the room pacing, when Lestrade walked up to me. 

_"Hello, Sherlock."_

_"Hello, Inspector."_

"Please correct me if I'm wrong, but if you are out after curfew, isn't this a breach of the terms of your bail?"

"I imagine so." I sighed. 

"Sherlock, it pains me to do this, but I have to arrest you." 

"Can't we just get this over with?" No sense in postponing the inevitable. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a continuation of the previous chapter. I usually alternate between the boys, but this is Sherlock's perspective, ch 15 and 16.

And so, as Lestrade and I were talking, they had handcuffed John. He was sitting there looking pretty pathetic, when Lestrade and I walked over to him. 

I had promised Lestrade I wouldn't make any trouble, so I wasn't handcuffed. He trusts me, sort of. 

"I think you can let John out of the cuffs too, Lestrade. I think he will come along quietly to the station, won't you, John?" I put a hand on John's shoulder and nodded.

John looked up at me, confused. He nodded. Lestrade took off the handcuffs.

We walked to the police car, got in and rode to the station. We weren't going to the local station obviously, they're not all open at this time of night. Islington is the only one, I think on this side of London. I made the mistake of sharing that observation with John. 

"And why do you know which of the London police stations are open 24 hours?" John asked.

"Comes in handy." I answered quietly, looking out the window.

Once at the station, Lestrade made us tea. He cleared his throat. "Sherlock, I'm surprised."

"I know." I responded, blowing on my tea, in the _de rigueur_ styrofoam cup. It was much too hot. 

"I'm going to need to file a report." he sat at the desk across from us. 

"I understand." I said, I got up and placed my cup on the desk. 

"I'm surprised that you risked the very little freedom you had." Lestrade leaned forward in his chair. 

"It's simple, I was losing my mind." Honestly, while not always the best policy, is often expedient. 

"What's your brother going to say?

"Plenty, I imagine."

"You don't seem too concerned." 

"Oh, but I am." No time to panic.

"Obviously, I'm at your mercy, Lestrade. I'm relying on you to tell me my options." voice calm and not shaking at all. 

Lestrade sighed. 

Up until now, John was just sitting there. "Would someone like to tell me what's going on?" he said in a small voice. 

"Well John, we've been arrested on 1.) the count of disorderly behavior and 2.) common assault _(that would be you)_ and 3.) because of my prior record for drugs possession of class A, B _and_ C drugs with intent to sell, deal or share such drugs, my being at the pub and away from my room has violated the terms of my bail. _Subsequently,_ Inspector Lestrade here is trying to determine if he was wrong in granting me bail the first time 'round and wondering now if I should be taken to jail expeditiously to await my court hearing." 

John was holding his head, massaging his temples. "I'm sorry, I...how? I...I can't believe," he looked between Lestrade and me shaking his head. "Are you sure you have the right person? Because Sherlock..." 

_"John you can stop now."_ I stood up, placed my foot on the chair next to John and raised my trouser leg to show him the electronic tag around my ankle.

_"Jesus,"_ John sighed.

"Any help appreciated." I ventured. 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 17 and 18 are John

I had gotten so angry I felt like I lost my mind. I had weeks and months of suffering and Jim just appeared out of no where without a care in the world. 

I don't think I had ever been so angry in my life. I'm glad Sherlock stopped me. Took a while, though.

Jim was surprised to see me, that's just what I wanted. I made short work of him, _fuckin' weasel._ I couldn't hear the crowd at the pub screaming at me. I couldn't hear anything but a dull roar in my own head. Beating him felt great, I'm not ashamed to say it. I took all of my frustrations out on his face.

I smashed my fist against his teeth. My knuckles were cut up and scraped.

But I was interrupted. In the back of my mind I could hear Sherlock yell my name. I heard him. _I ignored him._ And then he tackled me to the ground with brute force, but I was still swinging wildly. 

Somehow with him on top of me, I got hold of myself and stopped swinging. He had pinned my arms above my head and shouted my name. Who knew he was so strong? It takes alot to take me down, especially after drinking, I'm like my father like that. 

Not good.

The pub cleared out when the police arrived. Eventually, I was sitting in a chair by myself talking to a policeman and then handcuffed. I had just gotten myself out of a terrible academic situation, now this. I had no one to blame but myself.

I was busy regretting my bad decisions when Sherlock walked over with that inspector, getting me out of the handcuffs. 

Riding in the police car, Sherlock telling me he knows which police station were probably going to because he know which ones are open 24 hours. _On this side of London._

The night got much worse after that.


	18. Chapter 18

We sat silently for awhile in the office before Inspector Lestrade walked in. I think Sherlock and I had pretty much sobered up by then. 

Apparently, Lestrade and Sherlock knew each other and have know each other for some time.

I feel somewhat responsible having dragged Sherlock to the pub when he didn't want to go. But I didn't know. I was operating on faulty information. I don't hold it against Sherlock at all. It's not something that you tell just anyone, really. 

Can I make it better? Vouch for him at all? I tried to tell Lestrade how helpful Sherlock had been helping me with chemistry. And that actually it was Sherlock that broke up the fight with me and Jim.

Sherlock wasn't fighting. _He was helping._

But Lestrade was grilling Sherlock on how he was getting 'round the electronic tag on his ankle. Initially Sherlock was unwilling, but Lestrade led him to believe the more he cooperated, the easier they could go on him, because of his age.

And that's how I ended up as Sherlock's police-sanctioned, court-ordered babysitter.

Not that I liked that term at all, but damn it I still needed him and I was willing to do almost anything to save him from getting tossed out of school. Or tossed in jail. Or whatever they were threatening him with.

Selfish of me. Entirely selfish.

Of course, there was my own charge I had to deal with, too. They let us both go home on bail, my court case a month from then, entirely dependent on how Jim fared.

Lestrade drove us home. The other shocker of the evening, was Sherlock goes to the public school down the street from my university. I waited in the car, while Lestrade dropped off Sherlock and had a quick, middle-of-the-night meeting with the headmaster of his school.

I went home with a splitting headache. It was just Lestrade and me in the car for the last part of the trip. _"He could use a friend, John."_

"Well, I thought we...were friends. _Sort of._ "

"Good." he smiled at me. "He needs grounded, John. He's brilliant, He needs to be busy--something to do. I've thought I might give him a job at the Met, loads of times, but..." 

"Yeah, it's fine, you're not sure you can entirely trust him."

"I think you got it."

"Goodnight, Inspector. See you at the court case." 


	19. Chapter 19

The meeting was tedious. Me, John, Lestrade, the headmaster of my school, and my favorite person in the world, Mycroft, were in attendance. I do realize that it's mostly because of Mycroft that I am afforded these concessions.

I'm not stupid.

And, I haven't hurt anyone, other than myself. That should be a factor, but it isn't.

At this point, I am royally stuck. I sat there as everyone decided my fate, the conversations floated above my head as background noise. No, I don't need to hear the current or previous charges repeated, I am fully aware of what they are.

I placed the electronic ankle tag and it's homing base in a carton I had lying around and brought it to the meeting. Turns out, I shouldn't have done, Lestrade was to remove it from my leg, officially.

Why? It wasn't being used at all. 

I had previously reviewed the process that I used to render the appliance inoperable with Lestrade. He wrote it all down in detail and sent it in to the manufacturer of the device, the extremely unlikely case that someone-- _other than me_ \--would use the same technique. 

_Not bloody likely._

And it turns out, the infernal device had caused some kind of irritation on the outside of my leg. I won't give anyone the satisfaction of complaining about it, either, even though it stung like hell.

Mycroft interrupted my reverie. 

_"Sherlock, you should be listening."_

I sat up straight.

John sat next to me in an obviously uncomfortable new suit and tie and shot me concerned looks every so often. I couldn't look at him. I stared at my shoes, face red. He is much too nice to me. He can't help it. 

Of course, I know why, even if he doesn't.

But, it turns out, I don't know everything. Lestrade, Mycroft _and John_ had devised a plan, _behind my back--no less,_ to keep me out of Her Majesty's Young Offender's Institution (HMYOI).


	20. Chapter 20

I didn't meet Sherlock's brother until the meeting. We had a phone conversation the night before and the last thing I want is to feel like his employee, but I do. Even over the phone he sounded intimidating. 

Sherlock's parents are long gone. All he has is his brother. He didn't quite fill me in on the entire situation, but I do feel like I have a better sense of what's going on. I feel guilty for keeping it from Sherlock, though. So, I'm going to tell him, first chance I get. 

The plan is I have to spend three evenings each week with Sherlock, studying. This can be done in my room or the university library. I'm to go over to his school and 'sign him out' monday, wednesday and friday each week. Sign him back in sometime between 9 and 10pm. This may commute the sentence I receive after my court case in the next 2 weeks.

This wasn't going to be easy. _I can't control Sherlock._ What if he wants to go out or he disappears? What if l lose him? This is a stupid idea. 

I wasn't asked to speak at the meeting, neither was Sherlock. We sat and listened, while the adults around us decided the plan. I tried to listen as carefully as I could, while Sherlock slumped in his chair, arms crossed in front of him and his eyes shooting daggers at his brother.

It was monday. I immediately got custody of Sherlock. This is ridiculous.

He wanted to go to dinner and suggested a restaurant, no less. I wasn't even sure this was allowed. He walked right up to Mycroft and requested his card. Mycroft handed it to him and we were on our way.

So, my first assignment with my 'charge' was eating-- _dinner._

"Sherlock, why are we here?" I asked as we sat down at a small quiet Italian restaurant. 

"Aren't you hungry?" Sherlock was smiling. 

"Well yeah, but this isn't what I thought...?" I opened the menu, but couldn't think straight. What am I doing here?

"...we'd be doing?" Sherlock added as he continued to smile and greeted the owner like they were long lost friends. 

The owner put a candle on the table, my mind was spinning. I expected that there would be more to this, like we'd be banned from pubs or restaurants or _the public_ or something.

But Sherlock was positively lighthearted and in the best mood that I've seen him in, ever. He ordered a bottle of red wine.

"This is a victory, John. I have the ankle tag off my leg, I can go anywhere!" The owner appeared with the wine bottle.

"That's not true, you're supposed to stay with me." He poured the wine.

_"But I am with you."_ Sherlock raised his glass in a toast. 

"Weren't you going anywhere you wanted regardless of the ankle tag?" I shakily raised my glass. 

_"But now I don't have to play at behaving."_

I am sure this will kill me.


	21. Chapter 21

I hadn't been to Angelo's in quite a while. It was nice. Best of all, it was on Mycroft. 

I know it surprised John.

_That was my intention._

The rest of the week went by uneventfully, but the scrape on the side of my leg was driving me crazy. I was pacing in John's room and constantly scratching. I couldn't hide it anymore.

"What's wrong with you?" John finally asked. 

I lifted my trouser leg and he was promptly horrified. "Why did you keep this quiet? Why didn't you tell anyone?"

I shrugged. Trying to ignore it, unsuccessfully. 

He dragged me to student health. We made up a story about scraping my leg, to avoid the real story that it was from prolonged contact with an electronic monitoring tag. They put me on pills and cream for a skin infection 

John dragged me to Boots and I put it all on Mycroft's card.

Next time John saw me he insisted _I let him change the dressing._ Of course, I refused. I just rather _not._

He kept hounding me, I begrudgingly relented. He changed the dressing with gloves and a very professional manner, but sat _very close to me and stared at my leg._

_"Are you done?"_ I finally snapped at him. The cream burned.

"If you'd hold still, I don't think it'd be as bad, Sherlock." he said calmly. 

"That's an open wound." I pulled my leg away, eyes smarting from pain. 

"That you _neglected."_ he stood up, walked away from me and tossed the gloves in the bin. "You could go to hospital for something like that." 

I thought about what he said, he was right. I stood up, letting my trouser leg fall over the uncomfortable dressing. "Thank you." I said quietly.

"Sure," he said smiling. 

It was quiet in the room. John was staring at me. I looked over at him. "What?" 

"Nothing," he said quietly and looked down at his feet.


	22. Chapter 22

The wound on Sherlock's leg looks better. I was really worried. It looked bloody awful. I'm glad he let me take him to the student health center. I'm gladder still he lets me look at it. I'm sure that he would just neglect it and end up in hospital with a deeper infection. 

I think the antibiotics are helping. Every time I look at it, it's less red. He seems to have less pain too. I'm surprised that his legs are so muscular. As I changed the dressing I was reminded of how he tackled me to the ground that night at the pub. I felt like I was hit by a lorry.

His trouser leg was gathered up around his thigh as he sat on my bed. I couldn't help noticing the long hard muscles of his legs, as I applied the cream to his wound. I noticed how defined they were as I wrapped gauze around his ankle. His leg was bent at the knee, foot resting on the bed. 

Sherlock's not as hairy as some blokes I've seen. Plenty of them in changing rooms at school. He doesn't smell bad either. As I sat across from him I noticed that the muscles of his arms as just as defined as his legs. _I would like to touch the muscles of his arms._ I have to ask him what sport he played. Has he mentioned that? What sport he played? 

_"Are you done?"_ Sherlock snapped at me. I was daydreaming _again._

So, I'll scold him so he won't see how much I have been admiring him. I don't like when he looks into my eyes, I'm afraid of what he can see there. 

It's close to time for me to take him back to his school. We'll walk back slowly and we'll talk about all manner of things and then I'll sign him back in until about 48 hours later. I'll think about him until I see him again. 

Mary stops by my room occasionally, less now. She's mad at me. I think everyone is, a bit, after they saw me hit Jim. But Mary was there when he pushed me off the balcony. If anyone should understand, it's her. 

My court case is coming up. Between worrying about the trial and thinking about Sherlock, I'm not sleeping at all.


	23. Chapter 23

It's becoming impossible to spend any more time with John.

Distracted, mooning about.

I know full well what's going on.

I am not sure if I am the first _male_ that he was attracted to , but I am the first male that he found his attraction to _troubling._

And that's troubling enough.

When we're studying--I catch him staring at me. If I'm talking to him, he stares at my lips. If I turn my back, I catch him staring at my arse.

Flattering almost, if I thought for one minute that John was going to do anything about it.

Otherwise, it's just annoying.

_"John."_

"What?"

"I don't think you're listening to me." 

Caught again.

"No, no I am, Sherlock, I am." 

I doubt we can remain friends. After he serves his 'sentence' with me, I can be on my way, to trouble him no more. Better that way, really. 

There was a knock at his door. It was Mary.

_Just the person._

John opened the door a crack. I was siting on the bed with my injured foot up on the seat of a chair, reading.

"Hi John, I wanted to know if you wanted to go get curry." I can hear her voice, but I can't see her from where I sit. 

"Oh no, I can't Mary. I have...Sherlock...tonight." John gestures with his thumb over his shoulder, indicating I'm somewhere behind him. 

_"No, you don't."_ I've raised my voice so she can hear me. This has gone far enough. I got up and grabbed my coat.

"Sherlock--you can't" John turned around to look at me/

"I can. John--go get curry with Mary. If you are so worried, walk me over to school and sign me back in."

It's better this way. I can't take any more of his pouting. Other people have begun to notice. so...

Over John's shoulder, I can see a relieved look on Mary's face. At least one of us is on the right track.

I opened the door of John's room wider, so I could leave. Right outside the door, standing next to Mary, was Molly. 

"Hi Sherlock," she said.

I stood there--she was blocking my exit.

She smiled, "I wanted to know if you wanted to come along too, with all of us."

"I don't like curry." I said hurriedly. John glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. _He knows I like curry just fine._

"Oh," she said. Molly looked over at Mary, who shrugged her shoulders. 

They all ceremoniously walked me back to school and John signed me back in. I got quite a few looks when I arrived at school with my small _entourage._


	24. Chapter 24

I felt bad leaving Sherlock, but he refused to come.

Molly was quiet at the restaurant. I know she fancies him.

I wanted to say something to make her feel better, but I didn't know what to say.

"Molly, I don't know a lot about Sherlock really, but I'm not sure he...he..." I was faltering.

_"He doesn't like girls, Molly."_ Mary whispered. 

"No, Mary, I don't think that's it." I protested. "I just don't think he's interested in _people. At all. "_

"He spends time with you." Mary insisted. 

"Yeah. _Court-ordered time."_ I countered.

Mary was quiet.

"It's fine, John. I was just hoping." Molly smiled and shrugged. 

There was another awkward silence until Mary said, "John, you don't have your brace on anymore!!"

"Yeah, finally. I feel like I'm back to myself."

As we walked back from the curry place, we passed Sherlock's school. I looked up at the building wondering which window was his.


	25. Chapter 25

Wednesday night. My last night studying at John's before the hearing. The hearing--scheduled for Friday.

John, on the phone with Lestrade, sits down on the bed, shocked look on his face. Jim Moriarty dropped all the changes against him.

Unexpected. Anyone who suffered such a viscous beat-down from John would definitely want to retaliate. 

So, what's the reason? _There has to be a reason._

Charges dropped. John off the hook.

Myself, on the other hand. _Nothing has changed for me._

I'm still on the hook, my sentence not completely served.

I'm glad for John though.

_John._

It's my intention to separate. Now. This will be it, then. We can stop this farce of 'studying'. I'm sure Lestrade will call and let me know what the next steps are. For me.

It was nice though. _Having a friend._

_It was almost like..._

_"Sherlock?"_

"What?"

"I said, _'Lestrade wants to speak to you."_ he handed me the phone.

Turns out, we're both off the hook.

A bit.

Jim Moriarty drops the charges against John and Lestrade told me that since the school term is almost over, the magistrate is going to consider my sentence (mostly) served. I still have to meet monthly with my 'offender manager', which has now been changed to _Lestrade._

I said nothing to Lestrade, but wondered if my _brother_ had anything to do with this.

I hung up the phone and sat down on the bed. An odd turn of events, to be sure.

"Sherlock?"

I was speechless. I looked over at John, who was grinning wildly. "Let's go to the pub."

"John, that's a really bad idea."

I put my coat on.


	26. Chapter 26

For a Wednesday, the pub was crowded.

I'm glad Sherlock decided to come along. I'm not sure he eats really, so when I'm with him I try to offer him food. The pub has chips. I know he'll eat chips. 

_This is a celebration._

Three pints in, I convince him to play darts. He's very good at it.

I tell him so. He blushes and looks surprised. _Sherlock blushes._

We walk back to my residence hall, just chatting. Not about school, not about trials or police, or bodily injuries.

It's still early. He doesn't have to go back yet. We have time.

Back in my room. Sat on the bed, I think about what I can offer him, I have no drinks or food in my room. _He's my guest now._ Now he's explaining some long-winded chemistry principle to me that I can barely understand. 

"Sherlock, I still have the Prosecco that Molly dropped off Fresher's Week. Want to open it?"

"Sure, do you have any clean glasses?" he snickered.

_"Git._ Yeah I do. Around here somewhere."

I opened the bottle and poured some into an RMC mug. I handed it to him.

"Your father's." he looked at the crest on the side. 

"Yeah."

"What do you have?"

_"University."_ I turned it so he could see.

"Right." He smiled up at me. I can't read his face.

He took a sip. Just as I was sitting down next to him, he stood up abruptly. _"I should go. We should go. You still have to sign me back in."_

"No I don't, _Mr. Rule Follower._ Remember? You're free." I raised my mug in a toast.

Sherlock sat back down, dejected. "No John, _you're free._ I'm still an adjudicated delinquent." 

"Well, we'll have to do something about that."

"We?" 

"Yeah, I'd like to help, if I can." 

He shook his head, took another sip and looked at me, quiet. "You don't have to. You shouldn't, really." his voice was soft, practically a whisper.

"Sherlock," I stared off into the far distance. I swallowed hard. It's now or never. 

_"You torture me."_ I glanced over to him, my voice cracking now, strained. 

_"Quite by accident, I assure you."_ he looked down into his mug. 

He was sitting now on the edge of the bed, head down. Wednesday night in the residence hall was very quiet. 

_"You're all I think about. You. When I'm not with you. I think about you. When you're here. I... _I want to touch you."_ I tried to sound strong, but it sounded more pleading than I had intended. _

__

I moved over and sat right next to him, the edge of my right thigh touching the edge of his. His leg was warm. Our shoulders were touching.

__

He turned his head to look at me, his eyes were clouded and confused, pupils wide.

__

"John, I..." he started. 

__

I put the mug on the floor and looped my right arm around his. I reached my left hand to touch the side of his face and kissed him.

__

His lips were soft and warm and tasted like Prosecco. I don't know what made me do it. It was incredibly stupid of me---but he kissed me back. My left hand wandered behind his neck, up into his hair. He made the tiniest gasp against my lips and I caught his lower lip between my teeth and sucked on it. I gently caressed the back of his head, depending our kiss. _And he was kissing me back._ I'm sure I had the stupidest, lopsided smile on my face, but I was terrified. 

__

He pulled away.

__

_Shit. Called it wrong, maybe._

__

"John," he was frowning. 

__

"Sherlock, you drive me fuckin' crazy. I've felt this way for along time now. and I was just not sure how to go...about... this..."

__

He placed his mug on the floor.

__


	27. Chapter 27

I had to stand up to think. 

I had been watching John all night. Of course I had- _that's what I do_ \--and trying to guess his motivations _always_ -I had entertained that he may have been trying to get me drunk in order to seduce me. Then again, maybe that was just my fervent wish superimposed upon reality. 

I had changed my mind quite a few times. Finally, I had decided firmly that it wasn't me he was trying to get drunk--it was himself.

Of course, I was just going to let this play out because I had felt I had no other choice than to let things unravel for themselves.

Then again, there were other issues to address.

But..

_John had me distracted._

_It was important._ Otherwise I wouldn't stop-- _this._

So, I had better explain, before I create a disaster (for myself) by having John think I'm putting him off.

"While I appreciate this demonstration of affection and _reciprocate,_ I wonder if we shouldn't be more immediately worried for your survival."

"My survival?" John looked up at me from the bed, frowning.

"I can't help but worry that Jim Moriarty may be planning some.... _retribution."_

"What?"

I needed to help John understand why I was concerned. "Why would he just drop the charges against you?"

"I don't know--he feels remorse?"

"This _is_ someone who pushed you off a two story balcony, do you really think he's the type to feel remorse?

"I don't know anything about him." John said in a quiet voice. "Mary knows him--sort of." 

"I don't know anything about him either, _but I do know he's gay."_ I thought I might drop _that bomb,_ get it out of the way.

"How do you know that?" John asked slowly.

"In the loo, the night of our arrest, he gave me his number." I stated the truth very carefully, waiting for.....

John went pale. "Did you take it?"

"Don't be daft. I binned it." Had to tell him. Of course I binned it. 

"But..."

"I've been thinking about this all night--since we got the call from Lestrade." I put a hand on my forehead, I'm getting a headache. 

"I thought you were thinking about darts and chips and that long winded chemistry problem and maybe...me." 

"I was John--this was in the back. In the back--placed in a file, in a separate room, on the back burner. In the back of my mind." 

"You were thinking about this all night."

"Thinking... _about you._ Ever since I first met you. This is about you, John." 


	28. Chapter 28

Sherlock thinks that Jim is out to get me somehow and that he'll use the dropping of the charges as a distraction. I'll relax, forget about it--then out of nowhere he'll get back at me. 

With something much worse than I can imagine.

I take Sherlock's warning seriously. But what can we do about it tonight?

I stand up and walk over to Sherlock, who is standing in front of the door to my room. He has a furrowed brow, deep in thought. I feel like I've been chasing Sherlock all evening and he's been skittish, jumping up (twice now), unable to settle.

Third times a charm. He's leaning against the door and I'm stand in front of him. "Tomorrow's Saturday." I inch a little closer and tug on the lapel of his jacket.

He nods, looking into my eyes, irritated. "And?"

_"Maybe you could stay-here--overnight-with me."_ I inch closer and slip my right hand into his jacket and feel his waist 'round the side. He makes a tiny smirk. 

"Here? Tonight?" his voice, usually so deep and resonant, is soft and low. He steps closer to me. His shoulder slides down a bit as he leans on the door. We're almost the same height this way. 

"Why not? Unless you have something on tomorrow?" I reach my hand up his back under his jacket, step closer and kiss him. He kisses me back. 

"Fine, let's go." he takes my hand.

"Where?"

"We have to go back to my school, sign me in and ..."

"...I can slip out the back door. I have to be counted as there or..."

And that's just what happened. We walked over the the school, signed Sherlock back in and I left, meeting him down the block in about ten minutes.

I was surprised it was so easy, but..... _it was Sherlock._

It was getting late. Back in my room, sitting on the bed. I couldn't believe my luck--I actually had Sherlock here--in my room--for the night.

"Sherlock, I'm glad you're here." I handed him another glass of Prosecco and sat down next to him.

I didn't have many lights on in the room. "I probably have something for you to sleep in." I offered.

He snickered. "Yeah, fine." 

I grabbed a t shirt and track pants and tossed them to him.

We both stood up to change, I was suddenly feeling self conscious.

Sherlock lay his clothes neatly over the chair. I could see him glance shyly at me out of the corner of his eye. I don't know who was feeling more uncomfortable, him or I. 

I sat down on the bed again. "Sherlock it's ok...you know...if you don't want to... I don't expect anything....I just want you to know. "

"I wouldn't have come over if I didn't want to, John." he looked at me and smiled. 

"We could just sleep." I offered.

Sherlock smiled again and drained his cup. He slid closer to me. "Of course I knew you'd be a gentleman, John." he leaned in to kiss me. 


	29. Chapter 29

The prosecco wasn't half bad, really. Three pints and half a bottle of prosecco later, I was pleasantly tipsy. Not pissed, but drunk enough to believe than anything was possible. Like me and John. 

Believing that this wasn't just some pleasant fantasy that I had cooked up in my addled brain. It might just be real.

When he invited me to stay the night, it was fortunate that I had been propping up the door just then, I might have fallen over. 

Yeah sure, John I _will_ spend the night in your bed. That _is_ what your asking, isn't it?

I should say yes now, _in case you change your mind later._

So now I'm here-- for the night.

I have John's soft track pants on and a vest with his old school name on the front. 

And performance anxiety? Well, I have the Prosecco to thank for pushing that well into the back of my mind.

I'm trying to answer his questions in that flirty manner that he has, but I'm abysmal at it. Do I have something else _on_ tomorrow? Are you joking? I have this on tomorrow: _John Watson._

_I'm nervous._ I'm rarely nervous. I'm obnoxious, I'm dismissive, I'm sarcastic, I'm reckless, I'm a drug user, a delinquent--but I'm rarely nervous. 

He was talking when I leaned over to kiss him. I slid a little closer so were touching. Lips, arms, thighs. I close my eyes. I don't know what he wants, so I do what I always do, Sit up a bit, lean on him, encouraging him to lay back. But he won't have it, he pushes back. He gets up--kneeling on the bed and reaches both of his hands under my vest, to touch my stomach. The abruptness makes me gasp. I haven't been touched in a while. _God, I hope it doesn't show._

John likes to kiss, I've gathered. He has me on my back now, He's working hard on my clothes. I could help him--sit up, take them off, but he's enjoying himself, what's the rush? His hands are everywhere, strong, firm hands, John has me pinned, I'm underneath him and my shirts off now. I'm aching to get the rest of my clothes off. He's moving too much, I grab him and pull him close and press our lips together, he slows and breathes into the kiss, tongue searching for mine, his soft lips are open for me. I hold him still and kiss him and play with his mouth, holding his bottom lip between mine. I suck on his bottom lip a little, then let go. He lets out a little groan and whispers my name. 

He's settled a bit. I take this chance to sit up and pull his jersey over his head. His father's metal tags clink and fall back against his chest. Sitting up and facing him, I kiss him and caress his chest and nipples, working my way back up his neck. I trace my tongue just under the metal chain he wears, on the delicate skin of his neck. He gives out a small gasp. Time to take track pants off. I stand up and get rid of them, so does he. We are standing up, face to face and I reach for him. I take his face in my hands and kiss him. He reaches behind me and runs his hands over my arse. I place my hands on his shoulders and gently push him down on the bed. Neither of us has any clothes on. I pull the duvet over the both of us and lay to side of him and reach between his legs. 


	30. Chapter 30

I woke in the middle of the night. Had to use the loo. _Nothing for it._ In the dim light of my room, I sat up, leaning on my hand. Sherlock's sleeping face was peaceful and calm, inches from me.

I just looked at him for a long time. I never see him like this. He's often frowning in thought or worry. 

Bright moonlight was shining through my window. His skin glowed, his dark hair a contrast to how pale he was. His arm was over the duvet, slim neck and muscular shoulder visible. He stirred when I sat up.

"Mmm?" I think that was a question. 

"Loo," I whispered. "Don't go anywhere." 

He smiled. I got up, I was hoping not to wake him, but this is a single bed, unfortunately or... _fortunately._ As I crawled over Sherlock _sorry...sorry..._ I saw a dark mark on the side of his neck, near his collarbone. I hadn't seen anything there before. _I wonder if I did that._ I'll have to look at it when I get back from the loo. 

I pulled on track pants and walked through the lounge to the loo. Should've got an ensuite. Too much money, though.

The floor was quiet. I have to get Sherlock out of here before everyone wakes up or we're in for it but I don't want to think about it. 

Sherlock was up and pulling on clothes when I got back. "I should go," he said softly, glancing over his shoulder at me. I walked up to him and wrapped my arms around his waist from behind.

"Can you get back in, at school?" I nuzzled between his shoulder blades. I am awed of how muscular he is. I can feel a tingle between my legs, I backed up.

He turned to me with a hint of a wicked smile, he knew, I think. "Yes." he said. I didn't doubt him.

"Sherlock--I have to tell you. I think, in my fervor...last night...that I may have given you..." I cleared my throat. "...a love bite." my face flushed. 

"My God John, really..." he whipped around to look at his neck in the mirror on the wall and sighed. "I'll just button my shirt." 

"I'm leaving before the sun comes up. It's best." he looks down at me, glint in his eyes. His hands are on my hips. He leans down to kiss me, just briefly. 

I watch as he slips out the door and silently through the lounge. I realize we didn't discuss meeting again. I closed my door quietly. 

I lay back down and fell asleep, no classes tomorrow, or today. _Whatever day it was._ I can sleep as long as I want.

`````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````

I wasn't awake and I wasn't asleep. I could hear a timid knock on my door. "Go away." I managed to hoarsely shout at the door.

_"John?"_ it was Molly. Shit. She never bothers me. It might be important. 

I sat up. I have a headache. This is the beginning of a hangover, I think. Was I still drunk when Sherlock left? What time was that? What time is it now? 

_"Wait."_ I walked over to the door and opened it. Molly stood there, handkerchief in hand, eyes red.

"What happened, did something happen?" I managed to ask.

"Can I talk to you? she asked in a small voice.

"Sure. Come in." I opened the door and ushered her in. "I just want to tell you... I was out last night...drinking and I have a hangover. So I...." I know I was squinting and holding my head. The sun in my room was too bright.

"It's ok. You don't look too bad, really." she said with a weak smile. I shut the door. 

She was quiet. Her back was turned to me. I could hear small sobs. Her thin shoulders shook. 

"Molly, what ever it is..." I began, I felt so bad. I hope no one died.

She turned to face me. "Oh, John!!" she cried and threw herself around my neck in a big hug and continued to sob, rather loudly.

I didn't know what to do. I patted her shoulder and let her cry. 

She started to speak through the crying. "I didn't know who to ask, I just thought...maybe." she pulled back and looked at me, her nose red. She tried to smile, a bit. 

"Molly, what is it? I'm happy to help if I can...but..." 

She sat down on my mussed bed, still crying, but softer now. Tears streaming down her face.

_"I ran into Sherlock at the library this morning,"_ she started, looking down and shaking her head. "Is he seeing someone? Do you know?" she looked at me, eyes wide and her voice just a whisper now. "Does he have a girlfriend, because... I know it's silly of me but I think I saw a _love bite_ on his neck." She started to cry again. 

And I sat there, staring at Molly, feeling like a fool, with absolutely nothing at all to say.


	31. Chapter 31

_John._

Truth be told, I was relieved to be away from John for a bit. _Not that I wanted to._ I needed to. _To clear my head._

Back at school, my time was my own. I slept a few hours and went to the university library to read. It's a good place for me to think. I ran into Molly Hooper, who was happy to see me--until she wasn't.

I had found a small table tucked in the back of the library against the wall. I settled myself in for a few hours of quiet reading order to distract myself until I could make sense of the recent events.

I shed my coat and scarf and lost myself in a large obscure textbook. I wasn't aware of Molly's approach until she was at my elbow. Out of the corner of my eye I glimpsed her standing next to me, holding her pink coat. I looked up. 

"Hi Sherlock. Studying?" she was smiling. 

"No, actually." I looked up at her and sat back in the chair. _As soon as I moved, her demeanor changed._ She went pale and looked surprised. She took a step backwards.

True to form, I saw her look at my lips as I was speaking, then her eyes were drawn down my neck to the very spot I would have been smart to hide. Too late, the mark on my neck wasn't large, but it was a stark blue and red against my notably sun starved skin. I should have kept my scarf on, but I never expected to see anyone in the far end of the university library, tucked into a corner against the back wall. I was hiding, after all. 

"Well." she said, her smile gone now. "I just wanted to say 'hi'. I have to go."

"Bye, Sherlock." the corners of her mouth turned downward as she turned and left.

"Bye, Molly." I said. This was inevitable, one way or another. I waited about 5 minutes, stood up, put on my coat and scarf and left the library. 

I hurried back to my room. I picked up the phone to dial my brother. "Mycroft, I need you to tell me anything you know about a uni student named _Jim Moriarty."_


	32. Chapter 32

Well, I didn't do great with Molly. Didn't want to lie, but couldn't tell her the truth, either.

All I could do was offer a little comfort. _Very little._ "Sorry Molly, I actually don't know a lot about Sherlock, really." I said (which was perfectly true) as we sat on the very duvet that Sherlock and I slept on the night before. 

She looked up at me with a watery smile and blew her nose. "Thanks John. I just figured that maybe you knew him better than anyone else. And...maybe you knew what...he was...up to."

What Sherlock was up to? I had just met him a month or two earlier and at every turn I learn something about him that's unbelievable. _And right now, I'm out of my depth._

Molly gave a big sigh and stood up. "I have to go. I know I'm being stupid, John. It's silly." she smiled and shook her head. "We never even went out on a date." 

She turned toward me when she got to the door. "I guess he's just not interested in me. I guess he has someone else." she shrugged.

I stood up and followed her to the door, feeling like a heel. "Sorry Molly." _I was sorry. That much was true. Really, really true._

I closed the door and out of absolutely nowhere, started to have a panic attack. My heart started to beat hard and the floor was uneven under my feet. I sat back down on the bed and put my head in my hands. I needed to eat, maybe my blood glucose was low after drinking so much last night.

My hands were shaking.

What was I doing? _Sherlock._ I didn't know him at all. What I knew was that he didn't have a history of being perfectly honest and forthcoming, now did he? The room swam before me. He's off the hook with the police, he may just not come back. I may never see him again. He didn't say anything when he left. 

He could just go back to whatever--else--he was doing before he was saddled with me.

First order is food. I'll feel better when I eat. Next is deciding if I call him.

I feel as bad as Molly. What if I was a convenient shag? A one night stand? 


	33. Chapter 33

Didn't take long for Mycroft to phone me back with information. It never does. 

"What is it?"

 _"James Robert Moriarty:_ _not much here, Sherlock._ Previously enrolled at uni few years ago, reading mathematics, never finished. His father is a maths professor at Durham University." 

_"Previously_ enrolled?"

"Yes."

"He's not currently enrolled in any university in London or in the UK, for that matter. Looks like he is a distant relative to a student at your school, Sebastian Moran."

Sebastian Moran, a hulking footballer in a few of my lectures. I had a run in with him two years ago.

"Employed?"

"No current employer."

"Address?"

"His father's is listed."

Mycroft promised to let me know if more information surfaced.

 _Sebastian Moran._ Two years ago he came up to me in the school dining room. I was immediately suspicious. There could be no good reason for him to want to talk to me. Turns out, he wanted to know if I could get him drugs. He tried to promise me that he'd make sure the footballers left me alone. I told him that I had no usual supplier, but that I got everything in Camden, just to throw him off. I wasn't telling Seb anything he didn't already know.

My real supplier was Victor, who in turn got everything from his father. 

I wasn't responsible for bringing Victor's father down. As a mater of fact, Victor and I both became fallout of the demise of his father's 'business'. 

I had to tell Seb, _'No sorry.'_ I didn't need his help. I was going to handle the footballers my own way.

The ringing phone brought me out of my reverie. Mycroft again, I'm sure. "What?" is my usual way of answering him.

But I was met with dead air. _Silence._

"Sherlock?"

Took me a minute to recognize the voice. _Embarrassing._

"John? Thought you were my brother." 

"Am I bothering you?"

"No."

"Dinner?"


	34. Chapter 34

I had to call him. I have to see him. _Sherlock._ To see if...if...My hand was shaking on the handle of the phone, _not sure why._ I closed my eyes when I heard his voice. I...um...he agreed... _to dinner._

I took a long shower getting ready for... _not sure, really._

Right. I'm hopeless. 

I met Sherlock on the pavement in front of the residence hall.

Watching him walk towards me, his long legs bringing him ever closer, Sherlock looked like he belonged in London. Dark coat, dark jeans and blue tartan scarf 'round his neck, that was thankfully covering what I knew was a bruise--left side, right near his collar bone. _That I put there._ There's a little hollow right where his collar bone meets the front part of his neck, under that is the scalene muscle. I shivered and thought of Molly. I looked down at my shoes, shoving my hands deep into my pockets. I didn't want him to catch me staring.

He usually looks insufferably posh in what's left of his school uniform (the jacket he usually stuffs in his bookbag). Today he wore jeans. I didn't know he owned jeans. The afternoons were getting chilly in London, the wind blowing his hair off his face. 

He looked like a regular uni student, almost. A regular student in 200 pound jeans. 

I knew all the girls fancied Sherlock, not just Molly. I'm not stupid, I have eyes. I see them--the uni girls, the servers at the pub or at restaurants. Girls on the street, even. They all look at him and smile. He talks so much about body language, how can he not notice? He does--he notices. He just--- _is looking for something else._

I thought maybe he was just not interested in people, but there he was, walking towards me, maybe I did have a chance. I just didn't want to be stupid about this. I wondered if he knew how I felt. How much I felt for him, so early, it scared me. I hoped it wasn't written all over my face, or if others can see. I'm going to try to be cooler maybe. Calmer. 

I'm sure I blush when I look at him. I'm afraid I stand too close to him. I know I hang on his every word. How can I pretend I'm just his friend?


	35. Chapter 35

Walking to meet John, my thoughts turned back to Moriarty. Who was he? He wasn't a student and he didn't work at university. Why was he hanging around there?

And Mycroft may be able to help me, but only so much. I have to be careful, _I still had a police record._

When things went badly with Victor, Mycroft was unaware until it was almost too late.

My love of what was happening took me right over the edge. Victor didn't see the danger, either. During Christmas hols at Victors, there was a siege, _snipers, of all things--marksmen--_ descended on the house. 

It was Christmas.

Victor's father was working with a network of international drug smugglers to bring drugs into Britain. Turns out, Mycroft doesn't know everything.

During the siege, I was on the floor, flat on my stomach, a jack booted thug pointing a gun at my head-- his foot firmly planted between my shoulder blades.

As soon as my brother was informed that _I had been apprehended during an MI6 siege,_ he arrived in a helicopter to whisk me away. By the time Mycroft arrived and they let me up, both Victor and his father were gone. Taken away. 

I never saw Victor again.

I screamed at Mycroft when he arrived, looking like a proper lunatic-after all, I was still high. I'm sure his coworkers feel sorry for him-burdened by a mad younger sibling.

_I had to turn Queen's evidence._ Everything I knew, which thankfully, was very little. I made Mycroft promise, promise that Victor would not go down. He said he'd do what he could. It was out of my hands. Caught in a sting--as it were. Too late.

I hadn't been paying attention, that will never happen again.

There were private negotiations on my behalf. Mycroft called in a few favors. I was not involved in the smuggling. No selling. My brother knows that, I'm just a user, plain and simple. Still, the charges had to be severe. Ankle monitor. drug rehab, mandatory counseling, probation officer. All of which I tried to avoid, skip, and alter with varying degrees of success, because I'm an idiot. Without Mycroft I'd be in HMYOP, or worse.

When I arrived back at school, the rumors flew. half truths. I had murdered someone, I was instrumental in an international bombing, had helped someone escape prison. I had robbed a bank. And Victor did not come back so...no one would talk to me. Not quite a burden, that.


	36. Chapter 36

Sherlock and I went to the pub. Not the pub where we were arrested, to avoid running into Jim again. 

We went to another of the uni pubs, there are plenty. Sherlock was quiet, looking over his shoulder at times. He wouldn't tell me why when I asked. 

Three pints in, I asked him to play billiards. He said he was not much of a player, but beat me soundly, _git._

It was my shout, so I went up to get another round. Sherlock headed for the loo. Took me a bit longer than than usual to get the pints, but got back to the table and still no Sherlock.

_Funny._

He looked odd when he got back to the table but tried to hide it. I was getting better at reading him, but only little. Nervous? Bothered? Worried? I wasn't sure. He was quiet. Usually after drinking, he opens up a bit and carries on about science, forensics, crime, body language, physics or eggrolls or something. 

Nothing.

He had been a bit quiet all night. But after the loo, he was just staring down into his pint, serious. It worried me. "Alright?" I asked.

He looked up but not at me. "Yes, let's go." He drained his pint in one gulp and stood, grabbing his coat.

"Sure," I said, confused. Having no idea what was going on, I followed him out the door, leaving three quarters of my pint on the table.

Outside, in the cold night air, I wasn't able to keep up with his long strides. "Sherlock, slow down! Where are you going?" I asked, breathless, as I trotted beside him.

He stopped. "Oh." he said and looked at me blankly, as if he forgot I was there. "Um, sorry." His eyes were clouded--as if he was worried.

"Listen, Sherlock, we don't have to do this if you...you." I shook my head and shrugged.

He sighed. His brow was furrowed and he looked quickly both ways down the street. "No, it's alright. Can we just hurry and get to your flat? It's freezing."

_I guess we're on our way to my flat?_

_And we're hurrying because Sherlock is cold._

Now I may not be the most observant bloke in Britain, but I knew that was a lie.


	37. Chapter 37

I wanted to be with John. There was nothing for it. I just wasn't the best companion. Not tonight. Well, not usually, either. 

I was too distracted. 

A few pints, maybe or--allright, let's play billiards.

Mycroft says I'm a piss poor billiard player. He always beats me. I should have let John win, but my competitive side kicked in. I drank too fast and was already feeing the alcohol. I had to go to the loo. 

I came out of the stall to wash my hands and splash my face with cold water. I though maybe I could relax for a moment and clear my head but I wasn't alone in the loo. 

"Hi, Sherlock." 

I looked in the mirror, behind me, Jim Moriarty was leaning against the door of the loo, blocking any exit from the room.

This is becoming an awkward coincidence.

I turned and crossed my arms in front of me, leaning against the sink. "What do you want?" 

"I just wanted to let you know that I don't hold any grudges against John." 

"You should tell that to John." I glanced around. I doubted that there was another way out of the loo. 

"Oohh no," he said shaking his head and smirking. He took a few steps closer to me. "John's much too violent for me. I just had my teeth fixed, want to see?" he was right in front of me, mouth open, pointing at his teeth. 

"Thanks, but I'll pass." I side stepped him, but he followed. 

"No--seriously, I have a peace offering for you." He reached into his coat pocket. 

I put my hand up. "I don't need anything." I turned to walk away but he grabbed my arm. 

He squeezed my bicep a little too hard. I looked down at his hand on my arm. "Please," he said. "Just one moment, hear me out, _Sherlock."_ He whispered my name. I looked up at him, his pupils large, beads of sweat crossing his brow. 

_He was high._ No one knows better than me. We made a great pair, standing in the loo like idiots, he was high and I was pretty close to being drunk off my arse. 

He continued, his voice shaking. "I just wanted you to know, that I'm a fan--of yours," he sniffed. "...a big fan." He cleared his throat and pulled a small envelope out of his coat pocket with two fingers and waved it in front of my face. He placed it into my front shirt pocket. He released my arm. 

"And why would you be a fan of mine?" I was now between him and the door. On my way out, but now curious. 

"Well yeah, my cousin Sebastian Moran, he tells me lots about you." He smiled and looked down at his feet. "It's funny, since he mentioned you, I've always wanted to meet you. Last time I gave you my number, but you didn't call."

I ignored the phone number part. "Why would Seb mention me to you?" 

He shrugged. "He talks lots about school." Jim's cheeks were a high pink. "Anyways, that something I gave you there, hope you like it. And my number, of course, again." 

My hand was on the doorknob. I had to get out of there. I needed to think. "You pushed John off a balcony. He could have died."

"I don't know why he says that." he looked nervous now, running his hand through his hair. "He was drinking, Sherlock. I didn't push him. He fell." 

I turned around to look at him. He smiled and shrugged his shoulders again. I opened the door and walked out.


	38. Chapter 38

When we got to my room, Sherlock was still quiet. Looked like I wasn't going to get him to talk--or even relax tonight.

_Despite the alcohol._

I wish he'd tell me what was bothering him. I'd like to help if I could.

Thankfully, there was no one on the floor tonight. Maybe everyone was at the pub. We've been lucky, Sherlock and I. No one thinks, um-- no one suspects--well--

If this was going to continue--

_Bloody hell--There has to be a better way to do this._

In my room, Sherlock sat down on my bed, quiet and still brooding. He took his gloves off and shoved them into his pockets.

I tossed my coat over the chair. "Goin' the loo." Too much beer. He didn't look up.

I closed the door quietly when I left and walked to the loo. I'm nervous. If I'm honest with myself, it's probably about what Mary said when we were out to get curry. Sherlock spending time with me. So what if he does? 

Besides, _I don't care what anyone thinks._ Wait, yes I do. _I'm a fucking coward._


	39. Chapter 39

I tossed my coat over John's on the chair. When he left, I pulled the item out of my shirt pocket and turned it over in my hands. A small folded envelope, white. Of course, I know what this is.

_It's cocaine. My drug of choice....._

I turned it over in my hand as Jim's words turned over in my head. _"A peace offering."_ For me? I wasn't the one he had an issue with. That'd be John--- 

About a quarter gram of coke (by weight) in my hand. I think.

Jim said Sebastian spoke about me. Why? I just wasn't making the connection.

I had placed the envelope back in my pocket before John opened the door. Jumped anyway. 

John laughed when he saw me jump, "God Sherlock, are you going to tell me what's wrong? You're not still thinking about Jim Moriarty are you?" He walked over to me. 

I stood up and looked down at my shoes, cheeks hot. "Sorry, I--" I took a step toward him and stopped, not wanting to get too close. I'm never sure of myself. He'd have to come the rest of the way.

He took a step closer and I reached for him--my hands ached to touch him. I placed my hands 'round his upper arms and ran them up and down his biceps. I squeezed a little, feeling the hard muscles of his arms. 

He placed his hands around my waist, hooking his fingers through my belt loops, he used these to pull to me close. I laughed-- _"John--"_ , I leaned down to kiss him.

He kissed me back, opening his lips slightly, moving his warm hands up and down my back. I forgot what I was going to say. Thoughts and words that I once had in my brain are now gone. 

I ran my left hand up into his hair and my right hand moved to his waist. He pulled away briefly and looked up at me. 

"---you weren't thinking of leaving yet, were you?" John whispered. He walked me backwards until I was siting on his desk.

We were now eye to eye. He stared at me and sighed. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?" 

"It's nothing." I said, but I think he knows I'm lying. _Better to lie, if the reward is time alone with you._

He smiled anyway, "Good," he reached up and started to unbutton my shirt. My legs were spread for balance and he stood right between them. He kissed me again, the tip of his hot tongue ghosting my bottom lip. _Um, oh._ More buttons.

_Stop_ \--A small warning in my brain reminds me that I can't let John see what's in my pocket. I grab both of his shoulders to disengage. "--Wait." I said, breathless. 

"What?" he smiled and brushed my hands away. "You can't possibly want me to stop. Do you?" he reached around my waist again and kissed me along the side of my neck. His face was buried in my neck, hot kisses trailing on my skin. His hands pulling my shirt out of my jeans and making contact with the bare skin of my back. 

John angled himself between my legs. I inadvertently moaned. "We can move to the bed." he suggested.

I did get a hold of myself--briefly--head clear enough to remove my own shirt. I carefully folded it and lay it over my coat, front pocket facing up. Gravity is a friend to me and the little white envelope. John took my hand and led me over to his bed. 

We sat there for a minute kissing, then I made to push him back. He shifted and I reached under his jersey to lift it off. He pulled me on top of him. I leaned on my left arm as my right hand made my way to his belt. I kept kissing him, pulling at his bottom lip delicately with my teeth as I rubbed him through his jeans. He moaned into my mouth, breathless. I kissed along his neck-nipping and pulling at the skin _(but leaving no mark--John!)_ and then down his chest raking my teeth over a nipple. He was breathing heavily now, we both were.

I stood up and slipped my jeans off as he lay there watching me--maybe a little slower than I should have. John's heavy lidded eyes glinted at me in the semi dark room. He helped me work his jeans off. Both fully naked, I got back into bed and he reached for me.

"Wait," he whispered. "I have--" he reached down under the bed and grabbed a bottle of lube.

"Thanks." I opened it and poured some into my hand. John reached for the bottle and poured some into his own hand. I rubbed my hands together so it warmed. John followed my lead. 

I lay down next to him and kissed him, reaching for his cock with my hot wet hand. The lube was great, and his breathing changed to hot short moans. I angled myself along with him and took us both in hand. When the friction got too much, he added his lubed hand to mine to make things easier. 

After that it didn't take long for John to come. His hand fell away from mine, his thrusting erratic, his face red. He arched his back up off the bed and flooded my hand. He smiled up at me.

We were both sticky with the warm ejaculate and I kept going. It didn't take long. John's cock was semi hard and I kept thrusting along side of his, watching his face get red again. I was watching him squirm under me, his eyes full of heat as he watched me until I came, adding my ejaculate to his. I fell half on top of him.

_"My God Sherlock."_


	40. Chapter 40

I opened one eye to a dim room. I looked at the ceiling, wondering in a lifting haze of sleep where I was. Then a heard a creak and looked over to see Sherlock standing on my desk.

_"Jesus Christ, what are you doing?"_ I managed to croak out, lifting my head to see better.

He had his back to me, reaching up and running his hand along the edge of the ceiling and the wall. He had on only my track pants, which were far too big for him in the waist and hung down around his hips. He turned to me. "Sorry," he said looking down. "Couldn't sleep." 

I sat up and leaned on my elbows. "Yeah, but..." 

He gracefully stepped from the desk to the bed and sat down next to me, legs curled up, knees under his chin. I budged over a bit to let him in. "I'm sure you have a very good reason why you were standing on my desk, feeling the wall."

"No actually. It was just a dumb idea. I didn't find anything." he smiled sheepishly.

"What were you looking for?"

He sighed. "Taps, wires, cameras, listening devices."

"In my room? Where we spend lots of time...with no clothes on?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and jumped up. _"There has to be something!! I know it's something!!"_ he stood in the middle of my room, both hands on his head, fingers combing through his wild hair. 

"It must be important, you've missed curfew and bed check at school." I pointed out. 

Sherlock glanced at the window of my room. The moon outside must've been full and bright, the curtains parted just enough to let in a beam of moonlight shining on Sherlock. We had fallen asleep. Not sure what time it was--but middle of the night I guess. I couldn't take my eyes off him. "I wish you'd tell me what is going on."

He turned to pick up something from the desk, his body as lean and muscular as any dancer. He handed me a small item. "Jim Moriarty gave me this."

I turned it over in my hand. It was a small white package, tiny. It was firm, but slender, folded over like a small envelope. "When?"

"Last night. At the pub. In the loo." Sherlock now looked away from me, at the wall.

"What is it with Jim Moriarty and you and the loo?" I asked, turning in over in my hands.

"What is it with Jim Moriarty at all? John--I think he's following me," he swallowed hard, _"watching me."_

Sherlock was pretty rattled. I had never seen him like this. I'd seen him drunk, annoyed, injured, arrested, angry, but never this upset, Jim _has_ shown up at places where Sherlock (and I, truth be told) were...coincidence? Maybe, but there were more pressing questions.

"Sherlock, what's in this envelope?" 


	41. Chapter 41

I sighed in resignation. "Cocaine. _That's cocaine there, John. Fine white powder, stimulant. I'm sure you've heard of it."_

I smiled but the joke fell flat. John looked at me, face blank. Any small hope John had of actually going back to sleep was thoroughly dashed at this point. 

"And _why_ did Jim Moriarty give you this?" He wasn't looking at me. He was staring down at the small parcel in his hand.

"He said it was a peace offering." Not the time for joking anymore. 

"Why did you take it?" I wished he'd look at me. I'm concerned that his voice is strained. 

"He put it in my pocket." Was this worse than if I actually took it from him? 

"How close...were you?"

This was going nowhere.

I was going to have to tell John everything. He didn't know all the details of Victor and me, nor the drugs. John knew some of that story but we had never had any full disclosure. I never had the chance to just tell him everything. I was afraid I'd make me look bad--no--worse in his eyes. And where was it going to get me?

"Sherlock...I thought you had given up...drugs." Now he looked up. Right at me. In his eyes was a little cold fear. Why did I feel guilty? I didn't do anything. 

"I didn't buy it!!"

"So, it was a gift?" Johns voice was quiet, sat up and reached for his track pants lying on the floor. 

_"What? No!! John!"_ He stood up, stepping into his pants, facing away from me. My stomach felt cold.

_I had no intention of doing that cocaine, mind you._ I kept it, granted. but it was because I wanted to play his game... _Jim Moriarty's game_ what ever it was. _Moriarty is playing with me I know it._ I need John. I need him on my side. After all, this involves him too. 


	42. Chapter 42

I wanted to believe Sherlock, I really did. But why did I feel such desperate, burning anger? I got up from the bed and threw my track pants on. I know my face was red, my throat constricted. I wasn't able to look at him and I wasn't in the mood for jokes. Jim Moriarty--who he met in the loo _(again?)_ at a pub _where we went to avoid meeting him,_ gave him cocaine?

It was the worst time to have a blow out fight, but that's just what happened.

I turned around suddenly and practically shouted at him, "What the FUCK is going on, Sherlock?" My anger getting the better of my need to be careful that he was in my room in the wee hours of the morning. I winced after I realized that the entire floor could have heard me. Probably heard me. Definately heard me.

He look at me surprised and silent. His voice was small and shaky, "That's what I'm trying to find out."

I reached for the vest that I had on before and pulled it on. "Why would you do something like this? You know how much _trouble_ you can get in." I threw my hands in the air. "I guess this is just how it's going to go then, right?" 

"Why would I do something like what?" He asked, but I couldn't read his face, it was blank. 

"Getting back into drugs!" This time, I did not shout.

"I'm not! That's not the point!! Why would I even show this to you? If I was going to do it---I'd have kept it quiet and not have told you!" His face was dark, his brow furrowed and it looked for a minute like his bottom lip was trembling but I know that's not true, this is Sherlock after all. 

I put my hand up, my voice quiet now. I was trying to get the better of my rage. My head was pounding as fast and hard as my heart was. I cleared my throat, "You know what? I can't talk about this right now, ok?" None of this was making sense, as a matter of fact the more he spoke the worse I felt.

Sherlock's face got even darker, if that were possible. He put on his shirt quietly, looking down. I took me less than a minute to realize my mistake.

The room was quiet. "Sherlock......" I took a step towards him. "Listen, I didn't mean..."

But he wouldn't look up. He toed on his shoes and reached for his coat before I started to panic.

"Please don't go." I tried to reach for him, he pulled away. "Wait, is your building even open at this hour?"

He finally looked up at me, but it wasn't the kind of look I wanted. It was cold and vacant. "What do you care?" he said quietly and walked out of my room. 


	43. Chapter 43

There was nothing for it. Was it the early morning hour, the slight hangover nagging at my temples or my foul mood? I put on my clothes and seething with anger that came from an unknown source, left John's room.

As I left I caught hold of my temper, or I would have slammed the door dramatically. Glad that I didn't, because Mary Morstan sat in the study lounge adjacent to John's room, apparently awake at 5 am, feet tucked under her, book balanced on her knees. I glanced her way, darkly. 

She looked up at me questioningly. _"'Mornin' Sherlock, are those John's track pants you're wearing?"_

_"Piss off, Mary."_ I muttered under my breath, words unexpectedly clear in the quiet hall. 

This had gone spectacularly badly. I walked back to school, indeed wearing John's track pants, slightly short on me.

The back door of my building was locked, of course, I presented myself at the front door, planning on throwing myself on the mercy of the floor warden at the front desk. It was cold. They let me in without comment, not asking for an explanation. I'm sure I was reported as missing last night. 

Mycroft was likely notified, good thing MI6 didn't break John's door down.

Up in my room, I threw myself on my bed, hot tears filling my eyes and spilling down my face, head pounding. I don't know how long I was there before I fell asleep. After all, I had been up for hours looking for wire taps in John's room. 

`````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````

It took a few days of despair at school before I wound up on Mycroft's doorstep. It was early evening when he opened the door himself, housekeeper out, apparently. It's difficult to surprise my brother. He stood in the doorway, shirttails out of his trousers and glass of gin in hand. One arched eyebrow betrayed the shock he felt. 

"Well, this must be bad-- very bad indeed. And what _calamity_ has brought you to my door, Sherlock?" He asked, actually looking concerned.

I really didn't want to explain the whole thing, but I did. He looked a bit relieved after hearing it. "I'll call your school in the morning."

I moped 'round his flat all weekend. Sunday morning he sat me down and told me to get my act together. I had to go back to school, eventually. He insisted I take a shower and change into fresh clothes. 

Which was actually a good idea, because I was still wearing John's track pants.


	44. Chapter 44

So I'm stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I opened my mouth. I knew right away I was fuckin' done for. It was _the quiet._ Sherlock is never quiet when he tries to get his point across--he just keeps going. I should have let him explain himself, instead of jumping all over him. I never should have let myself get so angry.

_It...I...was bad._

He wouldn't look up at me. I started to apologize, but it was too late. After he left, I sat on the bed, hating myself. I jumped up and took off after him, but couldn't find him on the street. I was afraid to show up at his school, so I went back to the residence hall. 

I called his room but there was no answer. Over the next few days, I ran around town looking everywhere--the pub, the library (in the back), the uni coffee shop. Nothing. 

He was avoiding me.

I went to class with a heavy heart that week. I missed him and I wanted to apologize. I wished he'd talk to me, so I could just say I'm sorry. My feet were lead as I dragged myself to and from each building.

"John, wait up!" It was Molly--she ran to catch up with me. "How are you?" she said out of breath, smiling.

"Fine," I said. I really didn't want to talk.

"Where's Sherlock been? I haven't seen him." She looked at me with those big round eyes of hers. She knows he hadn't been around. It's been a fuckin' week and a half. She's just being nice. Or nosey. 

I shrugged, "School, I guess."

"John," she said gently, "Did something happen? Was there an argument?"

Bloody hell, Molly, I can't tell you, of all people.

_Yes Molly, Sherlock and I (who were actually sleeping together--just as of last week) had a tremendous row! and now are broken up or something. Christ!! Can you be broken up if you were never together? Anyway Molly--can you help us sort it out? Thanks!!_

I know I took too long to answer her. I just stood there, on the pavement, half way to our building, staring at her, or rather, through her.

"John?"

"Molly, _it's Sherlock--who the hell knows?"_ I walked away and left her there on the pavement. 


	45. Chapter 45

I'm on my way back from the pub. It's getting colder, the sun sets early now. Its been a few weeks, with no word from John. No calls, no letters, no contact. I reckon this is it. Couldn't last. Too good to be true, really. My lot in life.

He thinks I'm getting back into drugs when I'm not. It was unfortunate that he wouldn't listen when I tried to explain that Jim actually _placed the cocaine into my pocket._ No, I didn't give it back, but I wasn't going to use it, nonetheless. I've taken up smoking again. Lesser of the evils I could choose. 

I just wanted to see what Jim's plan was. With me, for me. _Why me?_ Thinking, no-- _knowing_ that there was more to his odd behavior, but not knowing exactly what. I never believed him when he said John fell from the balcony. I had always believed John. Too bad John didn't believe me. 

I'm only a few blocks away from school. I spend lots of time alone now. Lost in thoughts that usually take me down some dark avenues.

I think about John. There are times when I'm angry and hurt and other times, just angry.

I've lost the impetus to visit the uni library or the coffee shop. I barely go to class. I'll soon hear from Mycroft, no doubt. 

In my free time, I wandered to Camden Market--force of habit. And as luck would have it, didn't run into any of my previous _seedy associates,_ (quoting my brother). I didn't buy anything, except a latte.

_Twice_ I've had my hand on the phone to call an old dealer. If John thinks I'm back using then, why not? 

_I didn't._

I've gone to the pub a few times--alone-. I remember that they tell you to not go to pubs when you're in recovery. It's a gateway, they say. Mycroft accuses me of not reading the literature they give you, but I did. 

But I went with John and....I have to laugh at myself. 

I have to forget about John, but it's not easy.

I shouldn't go to the pubs, people _talk_ to me. It's annoying.

I'm certain it's _flirting_ or something. Men, women--I seem to draw them all. I just frown at them and walk away. I don't even want to insult anyone anymore.

What am I looking for? Am I hoping to run into John at the pub? What would I say if I saw him?

I'm almost back at school. I can make it to supper if I speed up a bit. I guess I better eat something. I can't remember the last time I ate. 

I heard someone shout my name from down the street and turned around. "Sherlock! Walking back to school?" It was Sebastian Moran, out of breath. I'd like to avoid him, but it looks like he's walking back to school too.

_Shit. Can things get any worse?_ He walked back with me, chatting all the way. It was very suspicious and out of character for him. He only talks to me if he needs something-- and it's usually drugs. 

I changed my plan to go to dinner. 

"We'll just make dinner. Want to go?" he looked at me, _smiling._

"Not hungry." I turned to leave.

Not anymore.


	46. Chapter 46

So yeah, weeks went by without my seeing Sherlock. I called his room several times, no answer. He's not one to stay in his room, but I called at odd hours and kept hoping to catch him.

He's avoiding me.

I'm keeping my eyes and ears open. I look for him everywhere.

I've been going out a bit with Mary. I wouldn't call it _dating_ exactly. It was just Mary asked me out and I went.

I've gotten thoroughly smashed a few times, and so has she, on our trips to the pubs.

I guess it's over-me an' Sherlock. I'm really gutted about it, but I'm trying to keep myself together. I know I made him mad when I pressed him about the drugs. But he probably wouldn't have been so defensive, if he had nothing to hide.

My marks in school are hovering right above terrible.

I know Mary's been after me all term, and we've been having some fun, but she's no Sherlock.

Holidays are coming up. Just a few more days of class, then holiday break. Mary and I are at the pub one last time before I have to start getting ready for end of term. We are sitting in a booth, the table top made of out of imbedded coins-mostly pennies, but I saw one and two pounds and 10, 25 and 50 pence. 

This was one of the darker pubs, dark wood paneling with nooks and crannies where there were hidden booths for conversation, still poplar with uni students. Mary was looking a the menu with 'This Terms Highlights' printed on the top. 

"I think I'll have this 'stack of biscuits' with chocolate, caramel and cream." she said smiling up at me over the menu.

I laughed and grabbed the menu to look, "Biscuits and beer? You sound like...." 

"What?" she asked with eyebrows raised in a question. "Or should I ask _'who'?" Her eyes were twinkling._

_Shit._

I pretended not to hear her because I'm a berk. I looked down at the menu, cheeks pink. "Oh I see," I said trying to recover gracelessly. "Not beer--white wine I guess."

Mary let it slide. Bless her. 

I gave her back the menu without looking up and got up to order at the bar. When I came back to sit, it was then that I noticed _Sherlock_ towards the back of the pub, with a large group of blokes. 

_"Je-sus Christ,"_ rushed out before I had a chance to catch myself.

"What?" Mary spun 'round to see.

The booth was along the back wall and Sherlock was sitting at an angle to me at the edge of the booth, I could see his long legs under the table. A server came to deliver our order. I just had chips and a pint. Mary ordered that biscuit thing that look a monstrosity and a glass of white wine.

Mary was delighted, I wasn't. Suddenly, I wasn't hungry anymore. I downed half my pint as soon as it was dropped off.

Luckily, I could look at Sherlock over Mary's shoulder. But she wasn't happy about it and kept moving her head to block my view. 

But I couldn't take my eyes off him. He looked the same, I thought and yet, didn't somehow. Same hair, same clothes, same face, same long, long legs. He was slumped slightly in the booth, legs crossed at his ankles under the table. The group he was with was a rowdy bunch. Toffs from his school, no doubt. They were loud and boisterous.

Sherlock was drinking beer out of a bottle, by far the quietest one of the group. He glanced over at me and his expression did not change.

_"John."_ Mary was talking to me.

"Sorry, what?" I looked at her. I could feel my heart starting to speed up and rage creeping up the back of my neck. I didn't want to lose control of myself.

"You know, you really shouldn't." she started gently. She took a sip of wine for emphasis, looking at me intently over the rim of the glass. 

"Shouldn't what, Mary? " I was frowning, my thoughts dark.

I looked over again, I couldn't help it. Sherlock looked my way, taking a sip out of his beer bottle. As I watched him, he looked right into my eyes and slipped the tip of his tongue into the the mouth of the bottle. I went red and looked away quickly. 

Mary's hand was on mine. _"John."_ I jumped.

Sherlock's group got up to leave. Thankfully, they didn't have to pass us to get to the door. Mary kept her hand on mine across the table the entire time, almost holding me in place. "Don't do anything you'll regret, John." she whispered.

Glad she had hold of me because the last one out of the door leaving with Sherlock was Jim Moriarty.


	47. Chapter 47

In a shocking twist, I'm the most popular bloke at school, it seems. I can't go a moment without someone knocking on my door. My phone rings constantly. Classmates are asking to study with me, go to the library or to get coffee. It's unnerving.

I don't study, I'm avoiding the library and the coffee shop, so I've told loads of people to piss off.

If I had a pistol, I might fire it at the door, so glad I don't have a pistol.

The change was startling and concerning. It coincided with running into Seb on the way home from the pub that night.

As if everyone had been given a message to befriend me, or harass me, same thing.

So I pulled the phone off the wall. Mycroft will just have to pay for that. School fees, I reckon. 

I'm spending time away from my room. A talent of mine. I've spent a great deal of time avoiding being at school at all. I've spent a night or two at Mycroft's, but that can't continue. It's cold, so it's not as easy as it was to traipse about London. 

I know other people in London, but they are dealers or know dealers, so it's best to avoid that.

Too much temptation.

Temptation is everywhere these days.

I don't have anything in my room anymore. I'm out.

When I was with John, I just let the stash I had in my room just sit there, back behind the wall, unused.

Since I don't see John anymore, I used it all.

So I'm out, but I'm not looking.

Although, I could. It'd be really easy.

_Easy._

The definition of easy is _'achieved without great effort or difficulties'_ or _'free from worries or problems.'_

My life was easier with John.

_John._

I did see him on the one night that I accepted an offer to go to the pub with Seb and people from my floor, whose names I don't know. I saw him before he saw me. I was halfway to pissed and couldn't feel my toes. I don't know how much alcohol I had that night, but I had been drinking pretty heavily. He was sitting with Mary. She always had her eye on him, I know. I wanted to go right on up to him and ask him to talk to me. He looked happy, I thought, sitting there with Mary. That is, until he saw me--then he looked angry. John's pretty frightening when he's angry and not afraid to confront or hit someone in public. I've seen it.

It was stupid, I know, to go out with the people from school, but I was getting _SO_ bored, I was just looking for distraction both from the constant stream of people at my door and _endlessly_ thinking about John.

Running into John in person just made me feel sadder. I watched him as he sat down in the booth with Mary. The pub lights shone on his blond hair, I couldn't miss him sitting there. He had on those blue jeans that I like on him, that make his arse look tight. But his broad shoulders were not defined at all in that shapeless beige jumper. That jumper has to go-- _what am I saying._

_It was torture._ I changed my mind. I wanted to go over there and ask to go home with him on the spot. I wanted to go over there and grab him by the atrocious beige jumper and kiss him in the middle of the pub, in front of everyone. I wanted to take his clothes off right then and there. I was ready to beg him, on my knees if I had to, to beg for forgiveness--of anything. Of anything I did real or imagined that made him unhappy.

I drained my bottle of beer. My cheeks felt pink and I was afraid I do something that would further complicate my life, so I stood up to leave. So did the rest of the group. My panic passed and I regained my composure. 

Seeing John that night was not the worst thing that could have happened to me. In years hence, Mycroft would refer to these events as _danger nights._

The worst thing by far was Moriarty showing up that night, too.


	48. Chapter 48

I was seething with anger when Sherlock left the pub with Jim. _"I want to kill him."_ my words came through gritted teeth.

"Which one?" Mary asked, amused smile on her face, glancing at the door of the pub as it slammed shut.

"Sherlock Holmes, Jim Moriarty. _Both."_

"Do you want to kill _me?"_ her voice was soft, her wine glass empty. 

"Take a number." I stared at the pub door. I assume she knows I'm joking.

Mary laughed and leaned forward. "John, _Sherlock's unstable._ He's this young kid, out here on his own, running about London--completely mad, _practically no family...."_

"He has a brother--wait-- how do you know anything about Sherlock? And the family he has or doesn't have?"

"People talk, John." she played with her wine glass, tipping it back and forth.

"What people, who people?" People-- talking about Sherlock. Who know about his brother. 

Mary shrugged her shoulders. Apparently, she didn't _know._ No matter, she wasn't talking. 

I'm on my own here. Mary was watching me carefully. I sighed and tried to catch myself, but it sounded more like a groan. A groan of someone who wanted nothing more than a quiet, warm night in, but who now has to do something dreadful. 

I could stay out with Mary, I could go back to my room, but Sherlock is out, _on the town_ with Jim Moriarty and that's the biggest disaster I can think of. 

It was Friday. I took Mary back to her room, kissed her on the cheek and thanked her for all of her help. 

"Thanks Mary, I had fun." I said automatically, but was only partly true. 

"No, you didn't." She had that amused expression on her face that she often has when she looks at me. Like I am her little brother and she is minding me while our parents are out. "Goodnight, John."

There was nothing for it. _I needed to find Sherlock_ -he was with Jim Moriarty and that is a terrible combination. Mary was wrong, Sherlock may be young and allright --he maybe mad, but he did have family and he wasn't on his own. He had me. And I was determined to find him. 

I went over my options, which were slim, I just decided to start out on the street. I walked to his school and stood in front the residence hall. I know which window is his, it was dark. I doubt he is there. Possible. but doubtful

Where would I go if I was Sherlock and with a large group of people?

There's the question of the day.

I would ditch the people, of course.

But why is he with this large group of people? So out of character for him.

Unless......

_Drugs._

Which made my getting to him, even more important, maybe life saving. 

Spent some time just walking the street, just gave a guess as to the direction they could have gone. It's cold, I can't imagine he'd be outside. There are several pubs near uni, they could be at any of them. I went into a few, nothing. 

Call the police? Call Mycroft? 

But--what if he's fine? He's not fine--he's with Jim.

He didn't look fine. His eyes were red, he seemed slower, lethargic, damn--I have to find him. 


	49. Chapter 49

Can't remember when he slid into the group, can't remember how many pubs we visited. I had to admit that my powers of observation were dulled.

Always had a drink in my hand. Bought a round too, when it was my shout, because that's a _thing. ___

Too bad John was not here to see me being so competent. Trying not to think about John. Or what John _thinks._

Jim at my elbow. Didn't see him come in. "Nice to see you, Sherlock," he whispered in my ear. 

"Just leaving." I tipped my bottle upside down to drain it.

"Don't go." he stared at me, eyes piercing, voice low and dark. "Fun's just getting started." he took the empty out of my hand and motioned to someone to get more drinks.

Put his hand on my shoulder. I flinched. "Sorry, too close?" he laughed.

"Never got a chance to talk to you." Shook his head. "Tried and tried, but--always thwarted." He squinted at me. "You don't need protecting, do you?" 

He handed me an unopened bottle. Good thing, I won't drink anything open. 

"I never find you alone, Sherlock. Until tonight. What happened to your boyfriend, John"? he opened the bottle and passed the opener to me. 

"John's not my boyfriend. Never was." So, that's why. Getting me alone. What for? Business proposition, game of cards? 

Game's tiresome now. Not half as interesting as I'd hoped. Leave now or drink the beer then leave? Stick around for details or just call it a boring evening?

I hand him the opener and eye the door. "Don't leave, Sherlock, not just yet. There's a back room here. I've booked--for my own particular use."

Warning bells go off in my head. Is he propositioning me for sex? I get up to leave. 

"No wait, please. No, it's something good, I promise, _worth your time,_ I assure you." 

Against my better judgement, I follow him, warning bells never stopped me before. It's just me and him in the back room. It's spacious-- sofas, card tables, mirrors on the walls. Looks like a gaming room.

He motions for me to sit. "I was told that you are a connoisseur." He sits and rummages through his pockets.

"Of?" 

"Oh, many things, but especially this." he pulls out a small zippered package, half the size of a toiletry bag.

On the table, he spread things out for me to see. A mirror, a few plastic drinking straws wrapped in paper, small sewing scissors. 

Removes the paper and cuts one straw into four smaller straws. Hands one to me. Pulls out a very small envelope and dumps a small pile of white powder on to the mirror.

Cocaine is my weakness, I'm afraid. 

More so when it's free. 

"What do you want Jim?"

"Nothing, I just want to be friends." 


	50. Chapter 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock, cont.

The coke sits on the mirror in all it's glory. I lean back in my seat and take a sip of my beer. News of my recreational cocaine use has gotten outside of school and the coke is seeking me out. How convenient. I watch Jim use the edge of a razor blade to cut the cocaine into a finer powder. I can feel desire swell up in my groin in an ache. The way I want this coke is visceral, my body aches for it. The small of my back is wet with sweat. It's not warm in here.

I shift in my seat and try to look away. I don't want to him know how much I want this.

"It's funny," Jim remarks, as he separates the coke into four neat lines on the mirror. "How you and I have never connected before." he snorts two lines and I watch him, but I don't move at all.

_"Oh!"_ he says, and tips his head back, holding the right side of this nostril closed with the knuckle of his right hand. "Don't want to lose any of that!" his eyes are watering. 

He looks at me and laughs, "Just like an orgasm, right?" and slides the mirror to me. _"Just like coming,"_ he whispers, "Maybe better."

I reach for the mirror, damn. 

"Most fun you can have for the price." he adds. 

I freeze. This could be a deterrent. "What's the price?" I look over at him. I could get up and walk away now. Nothing lost. 

"Nothing, _gratis._ By all means, go ahead." he waves his hand at the mirror, with a small laugh, all largesse.

And I do the two lines in rapid succession, not being vocal when the powder hits the inside of my nose, but I'd love to moan too. I can feel my face flush red. I reflexively hold the side of my nose, leaning over, elbow on the table. 

"Good-- isn't it? How was the stuff I gave you before?"

Shit. I hesitate. The coke starts to kick in, heart rate increasing.

"What?" he asks, sharp, birds eyes boring into me. "You didn't do it, did you?" 

"Oh, I see," he's reading me like a fuckin' book, "Daddy wouldn't let you, would he?" he whispered. 

"I'm leaving." I stood up. I'm high now, but not so high that I don't understand his meaning. I'm high enough that I wouldn't consider this night ill spent. 

"Please sit, Sherlock. And that's why," he pushed the mirror my way again after he did another line. "you and I would make good partners."


	51. Chapter 51

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock, cont.

I know I'm doing too much cocaine when I clench my jaw. It's unnerving, annoying and painful. The music from the pub is blasting through the closed door of the gaming room. The base is loud. I can feel the music pounding in my chest cavity. My heart's fast. My face is flushed. I'm jittery. And ecstatic.

Cocaine is my favourite drug by far _and I've tried most of them._

I look over at Jim Moriarty. He's sweating and looks agitated, smiling manically. Has he been talking all this while? _In a bit of a haze, I am._ I am far less emotional when I'm high. Life's easier this way.

_"...I can be a better friend to you Sherlock, than anyone else. People like John Watson will just hold you back. Funny little man, isn't he?"_

What's he going on about John for? How annoying. He's sitting much too close to me. I have a theory that you can tell someone is psychotic if the lower part of the sclera is visible under the iris. Just a theory. Haven't met enough psychotics to test it out, but time's on my side. He slides me the mirror again and I look down at the diminished powder. How long have we been here? My jaw clenches but I do another blessed line. A benevolent line. A beatific line.

Jim has his hand on my knee. "Sherlock," he whispers in my ear, voice so soft, so close to me, as I'm bent over the mirror. The back of my shirt is wet with sweat.

"I have something else for you. I can tell you're uncomfortable. Help to come down. Just a little help." He stands and I watch him dig deep into this trouser pocket and bring out another small package and unwrap it. 

He dumps more powder onto the mirror. I'm confused. This looks more tan colored, still mostly white, though. "Something to ease your pain. Ease you down. Slowly, _like a caress."_ He draws out the 's' in 'caress'. 

Sorry, not within my realm. I shake my head. I don't know what that is.

"I want you to know that you can come to me for anything. I mean anything." He snorts a line of the new powder and slides the mirror to me again. "You won't regret this." 

And now I know what this is, but I snort a line anyway. I felt immediately warm, my legs tingling. A wave a nausea hit but I didn't retch. My head fell back and the room tipped to the side. I tried to stand. Didn't succeed. _I don't want to sleep here._

Shit. This is like _anesthesia._

I looked over at Jim, he was still smiling. He looked very far away, as if at the end of a long tunnel. I have to get out of here. I managed to stand, lurching, I'm sure. I left the room, found my coat and made my way outside to the snowy street. I had to lean on the brick building until I was sure I wouldn't fall. I should be cold, but I was warm. My legs didn't want to walk, but they were moving, finally.

I made my way to the park. It was snowing harder. The benches were covered with snow. I lay down on a bench and look up at the falling snowflakes. The street lamps were as bright as the sun. Had to close my eyes. Started to dream of John. I could see him in my dream. He was talking to me and he wasn't at all angry this time. I kept repeating, "How did you get here? How did you get into my dream, John?" 


	52. Chapter 52

I was outside for a few hours. It was cold, dark and snowing on and off. 

I went from pub to pub. After long, I recognized the blokes Sherlock was with. Keeping my composure, I asked one of them if they had seen Sherlock or Jim, but they said they had long gone and didn't know where. 

On my way back to my residence hall, discouraged and close to giving up, I had an idea to cut through the park. It was beautiful and quiet. The snow hung on the branches of the trees about one inch thick. Of course no one was out. The park was quiet, ghostly. After the park, in a few blocks I'd be back home at uni. 

I walked past a silent, empty fountain with wet, frozen feet. The snow was slowing. I was just ready to turn back when I saw him. My heart fell like a rock into my frozen wet shoes.

I was afraid. Afraid of what I'd find when I reached him. Right past the dead, frozen fountain, I could see a figure laying on the park bench. It was Sherlock for sure. Reclining on the bench lengthwise, one foot up on the arm rest of the bench, the other leg out to the side, bent at the knee. If it was any other day, one would think maybe he was resting his eyes. But it wasn't day, it was a frozen cold night, early winter in London. 

My feet sped me to his side. I hesitated when I got there. Years later, when I think back to that night and memories unwillingly replay in my brain, I remember how beautiful he was. Beautiful and terrifying. For a split second that felt like an hour, I looked for breathing. I could see an almost imperceptible rise in his chest. I knelt down beside him. 

"Sherlock," I whispered. There was a fine dusting of silver snow in his dark hair. He was breathing, his skin was whiter than usual, cold, pale, ethereal. His nose had been bleeding, I could see some dried blood there. Terrified, I knew he'd die if I didn't get him someplace warm. "Sherlock, please." 

What was he doing out here in the fucking city park?

No answer. I shook him and he stirred. His eyelids fluttered but didn't open. I lay my head on his chest, his heart beating fast, his breathing erratic.

I spent the next 20 minutes pulling him up to a sitting position, talking to him, shouting at him. He looked a little better, but not much. He opened his eyes and looked at me. "John? What are you doing in my dream?"


	53. Chapter 53

It took me a bloody 20 minutes to drag Sherlock to the residence hall. He could stand and walk, but his gait was unsteady. He was slow and uncoordinated, so unlike the person he was usually, with me trotting at his side. 

His eyes were closed for most of the trip. He'd open them if I spoke to him. "Sherlock, watch the kerb. Lift your leg. Good. Let's keep going, right?"

Hard to walk if you can't see where you're going.

He's much taller than me, but he felt light in my arms.

He was able to talk at times, but his speech was slow and slurred. "John, don't tell Mycroft, don't." 

I was thrilled when I dropped him onto my bed, but getting him through the lounge was an adventure. I bashed my leg on a small wooden table. 

It was the _"FUCK!"_ heard 'round the world and everyone opened their doors, horrified at what they saw. Me, holding Sherlock, alternatively struggling to get him upright and guiding him to walk straight. 

I dropped him onto the bed in his coat, unconscious again. 

Molly, Mike and Mary were in my doorway, mouths gaping.

Mary was the first to speak, _"John...this does not look good._ Is he breathing?"

"Yeah, he's breathing. I thought, _maybe...if I just warm him up."_ I said and tossed my duvet over him. I was frantic, running back and forth, I shed my coat and I was trying to warm Sherlock's cold hands by rubbing them in mine. 

Molly was at my side. She put a hand on my shoulder. "John, he's unconscious. You should call an ambulance."

"Yeah, but..." I started to protest. Molly ran and got a small torch and handed it to me. 

"Check his pupils," Mary suggested. 

Now that I have him in the light of my room, instead of the poor visibility of the dark street, I'm starting to see how scary he looks. He was white as a sheet, dark circles under his eyes. He's thin, gaunt, unwell.

He opened his eyes, briefly. He looked right at me. "John. SW1." 

"Er," This is new. 

Everyone looked at me. "What's he mean?" Mary asked.

"Bloody hell. I don't know." I lifted his eyelids and flashed the torch at his eyes, his pupils were very small. 999 sounded about right. I walked over to the phone on the wall.

"That's the postal code for London. Knightsbridge, Belgravia, Buckingham Palace." Molly added quietly, chewing on her fingernails.

"Perhaps he wants you to phone the Queen." Mary offered. Everyone stared at her. 

"That's not funny, Mary." Mike spoke up as I dialed the phone. 

I gave the operator on the phone all of the information. 

"Tell them it's an overdose." Mary whispered in my ear, looking worried.

We could hear the sirens coming down the street in 10 minutes. They placed Sherlock on the stretcher and took him. I wasn't sure where exactly they were going but I wasn't allowed to go with him. 

My head was spinning, Molly stood close to me and put her arm around my shoulders. I wanted to cry, but I was too stunned and knackered. 

"John, doesn't Sherlock have family? Parents?" Molly asked gently. I looked over at her and immediately had a thought.

"Molly, where's your phone book?" on a hunch, I looked through Molly's phone book and found Holmes M. with the street name and SW1. 

I walked over to the phone again with a heavy heart and dialed. 


	54. Chapter 54

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John, cont.  
> This is the final chapter but I will post an epilogue.

Twenty minutes later I was on the kerb waiting for Mycroft Holmes to pick me up. I expected a long black car with driver, but it was just Mycroft behind the wheel of a red MG convertible.

He's a smooth driver, alert and competent, never hard on the gas or the breaks. He navigates the London streets like a professional driver, rather than the shadowy government figure he really is.

He saw the surprised look on my face, "I can drive John, no need to trouble my driver when..." his voice faltered, he cleared his throat, "when...I'd rather...as you can imagine, I'd rather this not get out." 

I filled Mycroft in on what happened over the last few weeks. Turns out, he knew Sherlock and I had a row. "John, I wanted to tell you that I think you have been a good influence on my brother. Sherlock is extremely sensitive and has a difficult time accepting criticism. But whatever happens, I want to thank you."

"Mycroft, I don't, I..."

"No need, John. No need."

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The next weeks went by in a blur. Sherlock was in hospital for two full weeks recovering. I couldn't see him the 48 hours they had him in intensive care for the overdose and hypothermia. Mycroft kept me informed. After that, he got a raging fever and the doctors told us he had pneumonia.

We spoke on the phone a few times. Mostly, it was me talking and dead silence on his side, interrupted by coughing. At the end of each phone conversation, he thanked me for calling. I wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to talk to me, but Mycroft kept encouraging me to call. 

I was allowed to see him the day before discharge. He was going to a rehab right here in London and I was hoping to visit, but still wasn't sure I'd be welcome.

I knocked on the door and opened it a crack. He was standing at the bedside, packing a suitcase. He looked up. 

"John!!" he stopped what he was doing and walked down to the end of the bed. 

I took two steps into the room as the door swing shut. I stopped there, shocked at how frail he looked. "Hi." I said, my cheeks hot.

He had lost weight that he could little afford to lose. He was wearing his own pajamas, I imagined, they didn't look like hospital issue. Dressing gown over those. Fading purple bruises on the backs of his hands. He had a big dry gauze dressing on his lower neck. Mycroft told me they had taken out a large port of some kind, the kind to give IV fluids and medicines. The location of it especially stung--this was exactly where the 'love bite' was that I had given him. Seems like so long ago. 

I planned to leave before it got dark, but we sat and talked for two hours.

We talked about a lot of things. I wanted to fill him in on all the things that happened while he was in hospital. 

Apparently, when Jim Moriarty dropped the charges against me, he planned to get a more _personal_ revenge-the sabotage of mine and Sherlock's friendship. He planned to get in between us by making me suspicious about Sherlock's drug use. His plan was to get us to argue, and break up, which, in truth, worked very well, 

I would have never found this out, but Mary had a guilty conscience and told me everything. Mary was helping Jim. She told Jim each time we went out and to which pub we were headed. It was Mary who was watching us.

Mary wanted to get Sherlock out of the way so she could go out with me. She knocked on my door one night, sat on my bed and told me the whole thing. At first silent, cheeks pink, head down, she hesitantly began her story. "I fancied you, John, from the first time I saw you." She shifted uncomfortably on my bed. "Of course, I'm embarrassed about it now. But you never did fancy me-it was always him, _always Sherlock."_

Sherlock was right about being followed--it just wasn't the person he suspected. It wasn't Jim, it was Mary. I remember Sherlock standing on my desk, feeling the wall, saying: "I feel like Jim Moriarty is following me--watching me." 

So, he had something there. I should've listened to him then, too. 

Sherlock took it all in, quiet, thinking. He slouched in his uncomfortable hospital chair, staring, eyes unfocused. Periodically, he'd give me a sidelong glance, under his lashes.

I sat right next to him in my own chair, leaning forward, elbows on my knees. He had a private room and although the chairs were close, we kept our voices down. 

With his long legs extended, his knees almost reached mine. I finished the whole explanation with only a few questions from him. He moved his leg and tipped his knee to make contact with mine, bumping it. I looked up at him and he was smiling at me, eyes twinkling. 

"Thanks," he said, softly.

"Of course. I wish I could have done more."

"More?"

He bumped my knee again, twice, bump, bump. This time I reached out my hand to touch his knee. His knee stopped moving and he sat up in his chair. I gave his knee a squeeze. His hand found mine and he held onto me. I wanted nothing more than to jump up and to sit in his lap, but he looked so different, so fragile, I was afraid to hurt him. 

"Yeah, more," I said, voice tight as I stared at him. My eyes drifted down to his lips, lips that were now just a few inches from mine. 

He leaned forward to kiss me and there was nothing fragile about it. Hospital doors don't lock, but I didn't care. I missed him. 

Sherlock got off his chair like a shot and climbed into my lap. He placed his soft lips on mine as I ran my hands up both of his thighs, making my way under his dressing gown to his waist. The dressing gown fell open. I gave a gasp out loud when I felt his sharp hip bones. 

He pulled away from me laughing, that wicked smile on his lips that I love so much. "John, you're appalled by my weight loss." he started to rock back and forth slightly in my lap. 

One of the many things Sherlock is good at, is making me forget what I was going to say. "Sherlock, I'm still worried about you." my voice strained, I wanted him so badly. My groin was aching, but so was my heart. 

He leaned down to kiss me as he reached under my jumper, running his hands over my chest and down to my stomach. "Try not to worry so much, I'm doing better. And now that you're here, I'm doing _much_ better." His voice was a deep whisper as he kissed me on the lips and made his way down my neck. My hands were in his hair and under his vest. His pajama bottoms were loose and open and I had to reach around to cup his arse. 

"If..." he broke away from the kiss, "you want to continue, we can go over there to the loo and close the door." He gestured over the the private loo for his room, that I imagine was very small, but had _a door._

"Of course, I want to continue."

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`````FIN`````````````


End file.
